CHAPTER XI
THE TUMBLING DONKEY
“Ramsey,” Mary caught her breath. “Did he—he—”
“Did he land safely?” Her father’s eyes shone. “Of course he did. Ifollowed him down in my two-seater.”
“You!” she exclaimed. “Were you in that fight?”
“Surely. Didn’t you recognize my bronco-buster salute?”
“Yes, but—”
“You didn’t think it was I? I don’t wonder at that. I would have toldyou I was to be in it, but I was afraid it would make you nervous.”
“Nervous?” she shuddered. “After today, I shall never be nervous again.”
“It was a grand fight,” he enthused. “You and Sparky had a real part init.”
“And we’re still here safe and sound. So’s our cargo.”
“Yes,” he frowned, “but that was a narrow escape. Here’s hoping youmeet with nothing like that on the remaining laps of your importantmission.”
“Without Ramsey and you, it would have been fatal.”
“Ramsay is a brave and skillful fighter. I’ve known no better. I stayedaround long enough to see that he was picked up by one of the otherplanes. Then my gunner and I flew on toward Persia. We made one stopfor fuel but beat you here as it is. Our plane is really fast.
“Well,” he sighed, “it’s been quite a day. We cleaned up that nest ofhornets. Two of them got away, but we’ve spotted their landing fieldand can finish them off later.
“I’ve got a little business here. You’ll not be leaving beforemorning?” he said, turning to Sparky.
“Daylight is best for our next long flight,” said Sparky.
“And it pays to be at your best on such a journey,” Colonel Masonagreed. “Persia is worth a good, long look.”
“I’ll be looking after the plane,” said Sparky, hurrying away.
“Oh, my overnight bag!” Mary called, hurrying after him.
“I will meet you at the desk in the small landing field depot,” saidthe Colonel.
“Set your bag in this corner,” her father told her when he joined herin the depot later. “Persian coffee is not bad, and their lemon ice isreally good.”
“Hot coffee and lemon ice,” she laughed as she dropped into a low,rattan chair. “What a combination!”
“Try it. You’ll find it hits the spot,” he laughed.
“I have a friend in the city,” he told her. “A wealthy Persianmerchant. He takes great pride in his garden. It is really verywonderful. I want you to see it. But first we’ll take a car up town andreserve rooms for the night.”
“Look!” Mary exclaimed, springing up. “That man is carrying off my bag!Quick! Stop him! That roll of papyrus!”
“Why, no,” her father stopped her. “There’s your bag, right where youleft it.”
“Sure—there it is,” she stared in surprise. “But think of a man havingan overnight bag just like mine, and in such a strange place.”
“American-made goods go everywhere. My merchant friend sells manyarticles from America. Most of the cotton used in his prints comes fromAmerica.”
For all that Mary breathed a sigh of relief as she picked up her bag.
“It’s that roll of papyrus,” she sighed. “I wouldn’t mind about theother things. I suppose they could all be replaced from the shops rightup here in the city.
“Every item,” he agreed.
At that they did not know the half of it.
A few moments later they hailed a cab and rode up to the strange littlecity half hidden among the barren hills.
“You’ll not see anything like it for a long time,” he assured her.
Having secured a suite of three rooms in a small hotel, they departed,after depositing their bags, for a look at the city.
“We’ll hire a couple of donkeys,” her father said, “and ride up to thebazaar. That’s the most colorful spot of all, and that too is where wewill find my friend of the glorious garden.”
Mary felt very much as if she were riding astride a child’s scooter astheir shaggy donkeys crept down the hot, dusty street.
“It all takes you back into the past,” she said.
“Yes, a thousand years.”
“But it’s charming for all that, a glorious place to rest.”
After riding down narrow, winding streets they came to the gates of thebazaar which, with its vaulted roof, offered cooling shade from theheat of the day.
“We ride in,” her father explained.
“How odd!” she said, patted her donkey, and in they went. At once theyfound themselves in a jam of donkeys, camels, and perspiring men.“Avarda! Avarda!” sounded on every side.
“What do they mean—Avarda?” Mary asked.
“That means, ‘Make room!’,” her father explained.
“All right,” she laughed. “Avarda! Avarda!”
They came at last to the shops where men sat cross-legged in the midstof their wares. Here were piles of cups, saucers, pitchers and plates,there were all manner of brooms, here piles of cheap, cotton prints andover in this corner long, flowing gowns.
“My friend has a large shop back a little from the others,” the Colonelexplained, “This seems a quiet spot. Hold my donkey. I’ll be back.” Hehurried up a flight of narrow stairs. To Mary the passing throng,Arabs, Syrians, black slaves, Jews with packs on their backs, andportly strangers of seeming importance, were a fascinating study incharacter and life.
It was a man of portly importance who at last caught her attention. Shehad seen him before, but where? One swift glimpse at the picture wallsof her memory and she knew. He was the man who had been carrying a bagexactly like her own.
Just then their eyes met. For ten seconds his startled eyes were uponher. Then, shouting, “Avarda! Avarda!” he forced his stout donkeythrough the throng, all but running several people down, at lastdisappearing from sight.
“How strange,” she murmured.
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_Men Sat Cross-Legged in the Midst of Their Wares_]
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All too soon she was to learn that his actions had more meaning thanthey appeared to have.
“It is all arranged.” Her father was again at her side. “We are to beat the garden gate in just two hours. You’ll find it fascinating, theexperience of a lifetime.”
“In these days,” she replied slowly, “each experience is one of alifetime.
“I just saw the man who has an overnight bag like mine,” she added.
“Did you? What of that?”
“I don’t really know. He ducked, that’s all, rode a donkey rightthrough the crowd.”
“That’s strange.”
“It sure was.”
When, some twenty minutes later, in search of a clean handkerchief,Mary opened her bag, she let out a gasp:
“Why! This is not my bag!”
Her father stared. “It must be!”
“It’s not. These garments are not mine. Nothing is mine. And,” she ranher hand through the carefully packed bag, “the roll of papyrus is nothere!”
“That man must somehow have gotten his bag mixed with yours.”
“But this is a lady’s bag.”
“It must belong to his wife.”
“But he’s fat, a Dutchman, or German I think. Who ever heard of aslender German housefrau? And these clothes are my size.” She held up ashimmering dream robe. “It’s the strangest thing I ever heard of,” shesaid when, after five minutes of examining the contents of the bag, sheheld up a beautiful party dress. “You’d think that my bag had beenburned up, contents and all, and that someone, who knew the contentsvery well, had gone to the trouble of replacing it piece by piece.Every article here is brand new. Only the papyrus roll is missing.”
“It is strange,” her father agreed, “but the ways of enemy spies arepast fi
nding out, or, perhaps, he was only an Oriental robber.”
“A thief of Bagdad?”
“Something like that. The roll of papyrus may be quite valuable, worthmany thousands. That depends upon the Egyptian dynasty from which itcame. Museums pay almost any price for certain rare writings from thoseancient times.”
“Why did I accept it?” Mary moaned.
“Why did I encourage you to accept it,” he amended. “Perhaps time willbring the answer. Then again there may be no real answer. Come, let’sget ready for the Persian garden party. We have quite a way to go, anddonkeys are slow.
“You didn’t happen to have any secret papers in your traveling bag, didyou?” he asked as they rode toward his friend’s garden home.
“None whatever, not even a letter. Sparky keeps all our papers in asecret compartment of the plane. That’s where the papyrus should havebeen, but who would suppose—”
“That anyone in Persia would be interested in that roll?”
“Yes, or know anything about it.”
“The enemy’s network of spies is vast and endless. Without doubt theyhave radio connections with every large city.”
“You keep hinting that the papyrus carries a secret message orsomething. You surely don’t think a message written so long ago meansanything to this generation?”
“There are those who do. I can find you men who will tell you how thiswar is to end. They found it all written out in the Koran, or theBible.”
“You’re not clearing things up much.”
“Let’s forget the whole business,” he suggested. “We accepted noresponsibility, only agreed to try to get the roll to America. Well, atpresent, it appears that we have failed. The sun is lower now. Myfriend’s garden will be delightful. Let us sing while we may.”
The garden was all that he had promised, and more. Having arrived at amassive, iron-bound gate in a wall, they tethered their donkeys, thenknocked. The gate swung open and they stepped inside.
“Look up,” said the Colonel.
“How gorgeous!” Mary exclaimed as her eyes feasted themselves on thescene that lay above them. Up a steep slope ran two stone walks.Between these walks a small stream of crystal-clear water gurgled anddanced over bright colored tiles.
Between the walks and water were narrow flower beds all aglow withblossoms.
Here and there the stream spread out into a pool or rose into aspouting fountain. About the pools were more flowers, while on thesurface water lilies—lily pads with yellow flowers—lay.
As they walked slowly up the narrow walk, the valley widened a little.Low trees began to appear on either side. Beyond this they saw a smallhouse that was all doors and windows.
“It’s out of a story book,” Mary whispered.
“Yes, Arabian Nights,” her father agreed.
They entered the house. At its center a small fountain played. Aboutits walls were low benches piled high with cushions.
“Oh!” Mary breathed, settling herself among the cushions. “Why mustlife go on and on when it could end itself in a blaze of glory righthere?”
Her father laughed but made no reply.
For a long time they remained silent, gazing at the scene before them,bright flowers, gently swaying trees, dashing water, and beyond that,in sharp contrast, dull, brown, barren hills and grassless valleys.
“It’s like life,” Mary whispered. “Beautiful and gay, then somber andsad.”
However, it seemed that for the time their lives were to be filled withbeauty, gayety and charm, for here was their jovial host and with himtwo black slaves bearing trays of fruit, cakes, and tea.
When the tea and cakes were gone, they sat for a time in silence, justresting and admiring the scene that lay beneath their feet.
“This is one time when I wish I could paint pictures,” Mary murmured atlast.
“The charm of our little world here is its contrast,” said the host,pleased by her words. “Without the brown hills beyond, our gardenswould not seem half as beautiful.”
Once again there was silence for a time. And then came the slavesbringing rice cooked with meat, a roast of mutton, bread, cheese, fruitand light, red wine.
“Ah! a feast!” the Colonel exclaimed.
“We have very little here in the hills,” his host apologized in trueEastern fashion.
“It is wonderful,” said Mary, “and more wonderful still to have timefor enjoying it. Tomorrow, we shall be rushing through the air oncemore.”
“When there is a feast one forgets tomorrow,” said their host.
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_“It’s out of a Story Book,” Mary Whispered_]
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But Mary could not forget. She thought of many things, the bag, the boybeachcomber she had left behind in South America, of the fine boys ofthe desert and Ramsey who had guarded her so well, and of the vanishingpapyrus. “What of tomorrow?” she asked herself.
With one ear she was catching threads of a conversation.
“Yes, he is short and rather fat,” her father was saying, “ratherpompous, a Dutchman or perhaps a German.”
“Yes, I think I know him,” was their host’s reply. “He says he is fromHolland. He trades in cheap pottery and sometimes in toys. I think heis German. We shall catch up with that man, you and I.”
She knew they were speaking of the man who had taken her bag.
They were to “catch up with that man” sooner than she thought, not herfather and their host, but her father and herself.
Night was falling as they rode back into the village. They were passingalong a street lined on one side by low homes and on the other by ahill that sloped away from them, when they caught up with a vaguelyfamiliar figure.
“It can’t be that I know him,” the girl thought. “He is wearing a long,Persian robe. I am acquainted with no Persians.”
The man turned to look back. Starting, she whispered: “There’s thatman!”
They were abreast of him when, suddenly, the wind blew back his robe,giving them a moment’s glimpse at a flash of peculiar green.
Then it was that the Colonel did a strange thing. Apparently he kickedhis donkey in the back of the forelegs, for, suddenly, he stumbled andfell to his knees. At the same time the Colonel went over sideways witha lunge that carried both him and the astonished pedestrian in aPersian robe, over the edge of the road and half way down the steepdecline.
Expecting a struggle and perhaps shots, Mary sprang from her donkey.
There were no shots. Instead, in the half darkness she saw one shadowyfigure go gliding down the hill while the other came struggling back up.
“Dad! Did you get it?” she whispered, greatly excited.
“If I hadn’t I would be going down, not up.” He was panting a little.
“Couldn’t you hold him?”
“Didn’t want to.”
“You didn’t want to!”
“You don’t know the laws of the Medes and Persians.” Her father laughedlow. “They alter not and if we had him put in jail, you’d be here untilChristmas as a witness.”
“Wise old dad.” She patted him on the back. “But see! Our donkeys aregone!”
“Let them go. I have paid for their use. They’ll find their own wayhome to their supper. We’ll catch a cab and get out to the airport atonce.”
“Why?” The word was on the tip of her tongue but she did not say it.
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