The House of the Falcon
folds of his burnoose. Mahmoud followed idly as if uninterested in the proceeding.
Whereupon Edith giggled irresistibly and nestled closer to her branch. It was not likely that they would see her in her perch. She felt the pleasant thrill of a fugitive, safe from pursuers, who watches the course of the pursuit.
The two Sayaks moved nearer, evidently at loss where to seek for her. Iskander muttered something angrily under his breath and halted beneath the very tree in which she sat. Mahmoud followed more leisurely.
Edith's bright eyes surveyed the scene with satisfaction. Then her hand flew to her throat as she stifled a cry.
Not a hundred yards away from the hemlock, and apparently nearer because of her elevated position, she had seen the Sart. He lay prone behind a low screen of ferns, and his long musket was trained upon Iskander.
There was no mistaking the intent poise of the flattened body, the purpose in the head pressed close to the gunstock. The ferns must conceal the native from the keen glance of the Arab.
Iskander moved slightly, to draw a cigarette from the packet he carried in his girdle. At this, the man behind the ferns looked up, only to settle down to his sight again. A brown hand closed upon the trigger guard.
"Iskander!" she cried—almost screamed—"Look out, in front of you!"
Startling as the girl's voice, coming from directly overhead, must have been, the quick-witted Arab did not look up. He slipped behind the bole of the tree
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