winning from the natives under his protection."
Werper withdrew a cigaret from a jeweled case and
lighted it.
"And you have a plan to make him pay?" he asked.
"He has a wife," replied Achmet Zek, "whom men say is
very beautiful. She would bring a great price farther
north, if we found it too difficult to collect ransom
money from this Tarzan."
Werper bent his head in thought. Achmet Zek stood
awaiting his reply. What good remained in Albert
Werper revolted at the thought of selling a white woman
into the slavery and degradation of a Moslem harem.
He looked up at Achmet Zek. He saw the Arab's eyes
narrow, and he guessed that the other had sensed his
antagonism to the plan. What would it mean to Werper to
refuse? His life lay in the hands of this semi-barbarian,
who esteemed the life of an unbeliever less
highly than that of a dog. Werper loved life. What
was this woman to him, anyway? She was a European,
doubtless, a member of organized society. He was an
outcast. The hand of every white man was against him.
She was his natural enemy, and if he refused to lend
himself to her undoing, Achmet Zek would have him
killed.
"You hesitate," murmured the Arab.
"I was but weighing the chances of success," lied
Werper, "and my reward. As a European I can gain
admittance to their home and table. You have no other
with you who could do so much. The risk will be great.
I should be well paid, Achmet Zek."
A smile of relief passed over the raider's face.
"Well said, Werper," and Achmet Zek slapped his
lieutenant upon the shoulder. "You should be well paid
and you shall. Now let us sit together and plan how
best the thing may be done," and the two men squatted
upon a soft rug beneath the faded silks of Achmet's
once gorgeous tent, and talked together in low voices
well into the night. Both were tall and bearded, and
the exposure to sun and wind had given an almost Arab
hue to the European's complexion. In every detail of
dress, too, he copied the fashions of his chief, so
that outwardly he was as much an Arab as the other.
