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Miss Z wanted to walk out with me and to sleep at Jinan Dolero, evidently not liking our passing a night alone under such suspicious circumstances; but I was convinced there was no cause for fear, and I think we both knew that the less we made of what had happened the better; so, borrowing a lantern, I started back for Jinan Dolero, Tahara clinging to my arm, S`lam lighting the way, and the old mother following.
Others that he was shot by some Riffi brothers because he was in the habit of talking to their sister. Others that the murder was connected with his having lived at one time with a Moorish woman, from whom he eventually separated. No one will ever know. Jinan Dolero would have been called in the Riviera "a villa": it was a typical Moorish garden-house.
Only lately a boy was shot twice in the thigh, happening to be in the way in a scuffle. S`lam and Tahara were often amusing, if not interesting: never commonplace or "well-meaning." One corner of the roof of Jinan Dolero had been left unwhitewashed, the whitewashers' ladder was still there, and one morning S`lam came to say in his best French, "Deux mesdames. Pour arranger en haut."
Splendid muscats, we were told, our vines would produce: branches are spread over them in the summer as a slight protection from the sun, but the grapes are left on the ground and often soiled; nor has a Moor the slightest idea of picking them, or of preserving their bloom. Besides the vines, there were fruit-trees in Jinan Dolero.
April is quite warm enough; indeed, Morocco City "stokes up" early in April; therefore we made it the middle of March when we said good-bye to Jinan Dolero and set our faces Tangier-wards, there to await some steamer which should take us down the coast. The odds and ends which had furnished us at Tetuan and were not wanted had to be sold a very simple matter.
But besides that, they are horsemen and most at home on a horse, while their country is not one to travel in on foot. Having decided that the river was fordable, and that we ought to be able to ride across it, we walked back by way of the city, and went in to tea with a Moor, ordering a donkey to be sent out the next day to Jinan Dolero, which should take us across to our El Dorado.
Having found Jinan Dolero, and furnished it after a fashion, we still lacked servants, and they seemed to be almost as difficult to meet with as houses that is, trustworthy ones. Again, however, we were fortunate. A soldier-servant who had lived with a missionary happened to have nothing to do, and agreed to come to us with his young wife, Tahara.
We stumbled on the rough cobbles and slid into the muddy gutter. Tahara's slippers again impeded her, and off they came. I wished devoutly I knew where Miss Z was, and could make straight for her, probably hurrying at that moment for Jinan Dolero, somewhere in the maze of streets and houses.
Thus, with all their locks and bolts, garden doors were often left open, and the cane fences were full of gaps. But none of our lemons were stolen not, at least, after we got rid of the guard of soldiers which for the first week the basha insisted on sending to Jinan Dolero every night. They ate them.
We were told tales of people who had met with terrifying adventures, but personally our expeditions had no such thrilling incidents connected with them. It would have been unwise to stay out after sunset, and that time always saw us back at Jinan Dolero.
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