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They were Carl Jenssen and Sven Malbihn, but little altered in appearance since the day, years before, that they and their safari had been so badly frightened by Korak and Akut as the former sought haven with them. Every year had they come into the jungle to trade with the natives, or to rob them; to hunt and trap; or to guide other white men in the land they knew so well.
Further away from camp than Jenssen and upon the opposite side another heard Meriem's screams a stranger who was not even aware of the proximity of white men other than himself a hunter with a handful of sleek, black warriors. He, too, listened intently for a moment.
"I'm not a wooden man," growled Malbihn. "You'd better be," rejoined Jenssen, "at least until we have delivered her over in safety and collected what will be coming to us." "Oh, hell," cried Malbihn. "What's the use? They'll be glad enough to have her back, and by the time we get there with her she'll be only too glad to keep her mouth shut. Why not?" "Because I say not," growled Jenssen.
His lips were parted, and his breath came quickly, pantingly. The girl recalled Jenssen's instructions to call him should Malbihn molest her; but Jenssen had gone into the jungle to hunt. Malbihn had chosen his time well. Yet she screamed, loud and shrill, once, twice, a third time, before Malbihn could leap across the tent and throttle her alarming cries with his brute fingers.
Malbihn gave his friend an ugly look, shrugged his shoulders, and left the tent. Jenssen turned to Meriem. "If he bothers you again, call me," he said. "I shall always be near."
Presently there came the sound of footsteps along the path from the village. Instantly the askaris and the whites were on the alert. More than a single man was approaching. Jenssen stepped forward and challenged the newcomers in a low whisper. "Who comes?" he queried. "Mbeeda," came the reply. Mbeeda was the name of the traitorous head man.
"Not the slightest; but why the old scoundrel hasn't claimed the reward long since is what puzzles me." "There are some things dearer to an Arab, Jenssen, than money," returned the first speaker "revenge is one of them." "Anyhow it will not harm to try the power of gold," replied Jenssen. Malbihn shrugged. "Not on The Sheik," he said.
Jenssen was still moving toward Malbihn at the time, but at the flash of the explosion he stopped. His revolver dropped from nerveless fingers. For a moment he staggered drunkenly. Deliberately Malbihn put two more bullets into his friend's body at close range. Even in the midst of the excitement and her terror Meriem found herself wondering at the tenacity of life which the hit man displayed.
But I know I locked all the gates very carefully, as always." One of the engineers spoke up. "I saw him doing it, Pete. I also saw one of the other guards leave the messhall for a few minutes just before we sat down to eat. When he came back I saw him grinning mysteriously as though very self-satisfied about something." "Who was that?" "Sorry, I name no names." "I tell," big Jenssen spoke up.
The girl had not understood the conversation that had been carried on by her two owners, for it had been in Swedish; but what Jenssen had just said to her in Arabic she understood and from it grasped an excellent idea of what had passed between the two.
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