She looked into his eyes searchingly and then she smiled. ‘I’m glad I’m with you, Gavin. With anyone else, I think I would have been scared – really scared.’
He smiled and helped her to her feet. ‘But there isn’t anything to be scared about. A few hours’ discomfort, that’s all. It’s the sort of thing you’ll be able to talk about for years, and the details will grow with the telling.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Her shoulders sagged and she looked tired.
He pushed her towards the cabin door. ‘Try to sleep for a few hours. You’ll find it cooler in there. I’ll wake you later on this afternoon.’
He closed the door behind her, lay down in the shade of the right wing and pillowed his head on his hands.
He wished he felt as confident as he had tried to sound. On his own and with plenty of water, he would have stood a fair chance of reaching Shabwa in a forced march during the night, but with a woman… !
One thing was certain. Marie and Jordan would come looking for them, but the trick lay in knowing where to look and the desert was a big place.
He listened to the stillness and felt the heat press down on him with a force that was almost physical, and after a while drifted into a troubled sleep.
Somewhere, there was a scream of terror, and something hard poked him under the chin. He opened his eyes and looked along the barrel of a rifle.
The man on the other end was a Yemeni in coloured turban, his half-naked body smeared with indigo dye. At some time in the past, his ears had been cropped – the sign of a thief- and his right cheek branded.
Two others were dragging Ruth Cunningham from the cabin, and as Kane scrambled to his feet, her shirt ripped and she fell to the ground. One of the men laughed and dragged her upright by the hair.
The man’s face had been eaten away by yaws, his eyes burned out of a mass of putrefying flesh and there were two holes where his nose had once been. Ruth Cunningham stared with horror into that ghastly face and fainted.
Kane took a step towards her and the three Yemenis all swung their rifles ominously. ‘It would be unwise to move,’ the one with the cropped ears said in harsh, guttural Arabic.
Kane moistened dry lips. ‘Take us to Bir el Madani and there will be a rich reward for you.’
The one with the face out of a nightmare uttered an oath and spat. He took a quick step forward, reversing his rifle, and rammed the butt into Kane’s stomach. One of them took the Colt automatic from his hip pocket. Then they left him for a while, his face in the sand, breathing deeply and waiting for the agony to pass.
The three men were outlaws – so much was obvious. But how were they going to act, that was the important thing? They seemed to be having an argument and Kane opened his eyes, his breathing easier, and tried to listen.
Dirty brown feet encased in leather sandals appeared before his face and a hand pulled him into a sitting position. He found himself facing the man with the cropped ears.
He squatted in front of Kane, rifle cocked in his arms and grinned. ‘It is time for us to go now.’
‘Take us to Bir el Madani,’ Kane urged desperately. ‘You will receive a large reward, I promise you. Five thousand Maria Theresa dollars.’
The Yemeni shook his head. ‘Over the border I am a dead man walking.’ He nodded towards Ruth Cunningham. ‘We can make as much money selling the woman in the slave market at Sana.’
‘Ten thousand,’ Kane said. ‘Name your price. She is a very rich woman in her own country.’
The Arab shook his head. ‘How can I be sure she would honour the bargain? A white woman commands a high price in the Yemen.’
‘And what about me?’ Kane said.
The Yemeni shrugged. ‘My friends wished to cut your throat, but I have persuaded them otherwise. Whether you live or die is your own affair. Shabwa is but a short step for a strong man.’