The Hidden Treasure of Rishmey-Yeh: Ii

I

JUBBUR and I were chosen to undertake the momentous mission to Beyrout, which lies a good seven hours’ journey, on foot, from Rishmey-yeh. We were instructed that if the Russed potion cost much more than two madjidies (the madjidy is the Turkish dollar, about eighty cents), we should not pay the price without further instructions from our comrades. Five madjidies were given us for consultation fee and personal expenses.

We started on our journey about the middle of the afternoon, and, notwithstanding the fact that we had worked from early dawn, youth and the allurements of riches gave us quick and elastic steps. Night overtook us when we were still about three hours’ journey from the great city. The region in which we found ourselves shortly after nightfall was the borderland between the provinces of Mount Lebanon and Beyrout, and it is usually infested by highway robbers. The darkness, the rough, narrow, crooked footpaths, and our increasing fear of robbers kept all our senses at an uncomfortably high tension.

Shortly after crossing the river EIGhadir, whose banks are famous as haunts of robbers, a low, deep, harsh voice called from behind a stone wall,

‘ What men? ’ —the equivalent in English of ‘Who goes there?’

‘Friends!’ we answered, in rather squeaky accents.

The figure of a tall man emerged from the darkness. Gripping tightly our walking sticks, our only means of defense, we stood in a defiant attitude. As the man came closer we recognized in him a stalwart Turkish soldier, fully armed and wearing the Mount Lebanon uniform. Holding his gun and bayonet at a threatening angle, he ordered us to halt; and this we did, while we asked, ‘What is your pleasure, sir?’

‘Who are you and where are you going?’ asked the soldier of the Sultan.

It was well known to us that the Turkish soldiers, who were presumably ‘guarding the roads,’ were as dangerous to meet under these circumstances as the highway robbers from whom they were supposed to protect the public. We stood rigid with fear until the man approached and placed his hand on my shoulder, when to my inexpressible relief I recognized him as a very good acquaintance of our family. His wife came from our town, and I had seen him at our house many times in my earlier boyhood.

‘Is this Assad Effendi?’ I asked.

He leaned forward and tried to see my face in the faint light of the stars, but could not recognize me. ‘Who are you, lad?’ he inquired.

After I had told him who I was and had mentioned the name of his wife’s family, he was cordial and said to us, ‘Go on your way, and if you should be accosted by other soldiers tell them that you saw me near the bridge of El-Ghadir, and they will let you pass unmolested.’

Thanking him and our stars for the unexpected kindness, we resumed our journey.

Upon reaching the carriage road near the ‘guard house’ known as FürnEshiback, quite close to the outskirts of Beyrout, we were glad to get into a public carriage, which took us into the great metropolis, where we sought lodging, not at an inn as the poor people do, but at a hotel.

The supper we ordered would, under ordinary circumstances, have been beyond our means, but seeing that an opulent era was soon to dawn upon us we deemed it altogether proper, nay, necessary, that we should begin to practice luxurious living. But even then Jubbur declared that when fortune came he would not even look at such a hotel and such a supper as that; to which I rejoined, ‘I should say not! ’

Although very tired from our journey, sleep seemed to us out of the question. Besides, we had to plan very carefully how to meet the great witch and her associate Mûghreby on the morrow, — a dread undertaking for two youths such as we were. Before leaving home on that day, Abu-’Azar, who for some reason admired my ‘mental equipment,’ instructed his son to give my ideas the preference in dealing with the object of our mission. The son followed his father’s instructions and I felt heavily laden with responsibility.

My plan was that we should make a false statement to the Mûghreby for the purpose of testing the power of his magic. If he or the great witch could discover the deception, then we might feel assured that they could read the mystery of our treasure. Jubbur agreed to everything I said, partly because of the instructions his father had given and partly because of his strong desire to escape stating the case himself.

But meeting the witch and the Mûghreby was not our only difficult task. They lived in that section of Beyrout known as El-Busta, the chief Mohammedan quarter; and for a Christian to pass through El-Busta without being roughly handled by Mohammedan ruffians was always considered a signal favor of fortune. The murders which occurred in El-Busta were utterly uninteresting to the public: the Christian fool had simply strayed to where he had no business to be, and no one took the trouble to inquire who killed him.

But the witch lived at El-Busta among her kindred, and there we had to seek her. From our physiognomy, attire, and speech, any one could tell that we were Lebanonian Christians. We wore on our heads the old-fashioned tarboosh (which was the ordinary headgear before the small tinpail-shaped fez of the Turkish army had come into general use), whose top resembled the end of a pumpkin with a large tassel attached to the stem, and a small narrow-folded, wine-colored silk scarf of Damascus make for a turban : a characteristic headgear for Christian youth. We planned to conduct ourselves very circumspectly while at ElBusta. We would not gaze curiously at the Mohammedans, we would walk in a humble attitude, and strictly mind our own business.

It was a great relief when we reached the notorious Mohammedan quarter in the early forenoon of the following day, to find that the cafés were as yet almost empty. The vicious loafers had not yet come to their revels in the public places along the highway. Now and then we met a man who would eye us in stern and spiteful fashion, making our hearts beat faster than usual, but on the whole we were tranquil.

It was by no means easy to find the abode of the witch in a city where there were no regularly laid out streets and no numbers on the houses. All we knew was that she lived at El-Busta, and as we were anxious to avoid trouble, we dared not ask questions. At last, meeting an elderly man whom we thought reasonably safe, we requested him most respectfully to direct us to the witch’s house. Pointing to a mosque not far away, he told us that the house we were seeking was a short distance beyond that shrine, on the road that went to the right of it. Following those instructions we soon reached our destination.

After removing our shoes from our feet just outside the open door, we walked in, to find ourselves in the presence of the great Mughreby, the witch’s associate. We stood near the door in a reverential attitude until we gained his attention, when we saluted him with more regard than discretion. ‘Essalamo ’Aleikûm’ — peace be on you — is a salutation exchanged by Mohammedans; but coming from a Christian to a Mohammedan it is considered by the latter very presumptuous. For how can an ‘ infidel ’ confer peace upon one of the ‘faithful’?

The Mûghreby, possibly for business reasons, appeared not to notice the impropriety of the greeting. He responded by nodding his head slightly in a distressingly dignified manner, and motioned to us to sit down on the matted floor. Lifting our right hands to our breasts, thence to our foreheads, as a mark of honor and gratitude, we sat down.

The Mûghreby was a man of stout build, and appeared to be about fifty years old. He wore on his head a rather small white turban, more common among1 the Persian than among the Syrian Mohammedans. His face was round and ruddy, covered with a short, shaggy beard which enhanced the witchery of his dark piercing eyes. Over his typical Mohammedan gown, which was girt at the wraist with a green sash, he wore a fine woolen cloak. He sat on a thick cushion spread upon a costly rug of mystic figures and bright oriental colors, and reclined against a messned (a hard and heavy pillow) which stood on edge against the wall.

The witch, as we observed, was in an inner chamber, besieged by women suppliants, some seeking potions to make their husbands love them, or to unhinge the mind of a woman rival, some to secure the blessing of childbearing, or to find some lost article, or ward off the evil eye. Sobs and groans issued from that mysterious chamber, and at short intervals the low, deep, commanding voice of the dread witch would reach our bewildered ears.

Presently the Mughreby motioned to us to come closer and as we did so he gazed on us in turn with the air of one who says, ‘The innermost secrets of your hearts are known to me.’

Within his reach on the cushion lay among other curious objects an egg, which he picked up, in a seemingly preoccupied state of mind, set it up on its small end in the centre of his extended right palm, and seemed to us to read in it deep mysteries. The feat of making the egg stand up in that manner excited our admiration.

Then, with a faint, quizzical smile, the ally of Beelzebub said to us, ‘What may your purpose be?’

My heart beat at full speed. But unmindful of the fact that I was in the presence of one whose magical gaze had searched the depths of a thousand craniums, I proceeded to carry out our prearranged plan by giving him a false statement of our case.

‘Honored hajj,’ ¹ said I, ‘on last Monday, while this my brother and I were working in the field, and in the absence of our mother from home, our house was entered by thieves who carried away from it money and other valuables to the amount of about two thousand piasters. Having failed hitherto to apprehend the robbers, we have come to you, O excellent hajj, imploring the aid of your great learning to enable us to know who the culprits are.’

With a look of indignant surprise which caused his beard to quiver slightly, and which seemed to say to me, ‘You saucy upstart!’ and without the slightest hesitancy, the great magician spoke.

‘You are a liar!’

Rallying in a moment from this terrible, though merited, rebuke, I managed with considerable firmness to imitate the attitude of wounded pride and to say to my assailant, ‘O excellent hajj, I have not come under your sheltering roof and in your august presence to be called a liar.'

‘But such you are,’ came the quick answer; ‘you are seeking to possess yourself of the wealth of others, and yet you make bold to tell me that you have been robbed.’

Here Jubbur, collapsing inwardly, cast a trembling look at me and seemed about to say, ‘If you do not tell the truth at once, I will.'

Whereupon I said to the Mughreby, ‘My lord, if what. I have said is to your mysterious learning not the truth, I beg you to condescend and tell us the facts.’

The magician then demanded the payment of one madjidy, as the initial fee for the unsealing of the book, — whatever that meant. We complied with the request instantly. Then, to our indescribable amazement, this man of diabolical learning told us everything. He informed us that we were in pursuit of a hidden treasure; that we had dug for it in a round hole, then in a cave connected with that hole and close to a smooth rock; that the spot was situated below a shrine and above running water.

The expression on our faces must have pleased him immensely, for we felt for the moment that we were in the very presence of Omniscience.

‘In digging,’ he said again, ‘did you find human bones?’ The way in which he put the question did not give us the impression that he did not know the answer; rather, in our simplicity were we led to believe that a significant revelation was yet in store for us. To our answer in the negative, he said, ‘ When the bones appear, look confidently for the fortune you are seeking.’ Then, stroking his elevated right knee gently, the wily Mûghreby added, ‘But — but beware of the mysterious powers. The treasure is guarded by a powerful Russed with which I am already in touch, and the gold must first be “released” [from the control of the dread spirit] and the Russed driven out into boundless space before the buried wealth can be touched. Be not rash, else you will be blasted, when no earthly power can help.’

Along with all this the Mûghreby bewildered us by mumbling something about‘centre and circumference, light and darkness, east, west, north, south, fire and incense,’ all of which inspired us with awe, though it added nothing to our understanding.

‘What would be the cost of the “release” of the Russed?’ I asked in much agitation.

‘One othmani [Turkish pound] no more, no less,’ replied the wizard.

That was more than five madjidies more than we were commissioned to pay, even if we had had the money.

‘Your excellency,’ said Jubbur, ‘this is a very high price.’

‘High?’ exclaimed the Mûghreby. ‘Just be mindful of the wealth which the release of the Russed would bring to you!’

Feeling still inclined to mislead the ‘possessed’ man I said, ‘My brother and I are poor, therefore we cannot pay such a sum; but we promise by the life of God that, if you will release the Russed for us, we will pay you double this price after we find the treasure.’

Reaching for a small polished stick, and with it pushing my tarboosh back from my forehead, the exasperated Mûghreby said, ‘This head of yours contains a devil. This youth [Jubbur] is not your brother; three other men and one woman are with you in this secret, and you have been instructed not to pay me my price. Try me no longer! ’

O great Mûghreby! Though he made a mistake in saying one woman, instead of two, we were convinced that the treasure was a certainty.

After we had told the magician that it was necessary for us to return to our partners, report what he had told us, and secure the price of the ‘release,’ he said, ‘Yes, go, but you will come back soon; I have you in the hollow of my hand.’

We rose, walked backward to the door as behooved those retiring from the presence of an august oriental personage, put on our shoes, bowed a reverent farewell, and departed.

Certainly we did experience a psychological revolution. We seemed to ourselves to walk on air and to talk by inspiration. We even forgot that we were in dangerous El-Busta. The prosaic theory of ‘mind-reading’ had not yet been advanced, at least in that part of the world, and the spell of a superhuman mind rested thick upon us.

II

It was now about noon. We must have dinner and start for home without further delay. But should we make the homeward journey afoot? No; with such a bright future beckoning us there was no need for such privation. We would hire two good strong horses and ride home like gentlemen.

So, after what must have seemed for persons in our circumstances a sumptuous dinner, we mounted and proceeded on our way to Rishmey-yeh, accompanied by a lad who was to take the horses back to their owner.

The road we followed, — the Beyrout-Damascus carriage road, — until within about two and a half hours’ journey from Rishmey-yeh, was fully two hours longer than the road we had traveled the day before, but it was better for the horses. At sundown we found ourselves at the then famous inn called Khan-Abu-Dekhan, where we halted for supper, and to rest and feed the horses. Not wishing to reveal our actual circumstances, and still relying upon our opulent future, we ordered liberally, taking even a draught of wine with the repast, and the innkeeper was much impressed by our liberality and charged us accordingly.

It soon grew dark. Large black clouds overspread the heavens, and a rather strong wind began to blow. But we had never been in better spirits. Horses, youth, wine, and the deceitfulness of riches filled us with power and courage. We remounted our horses and rode off singing (with more enthusiasm than melody) vernacular Arabic poetry.

Soon after we left the carriage road, near the town of Behamdûn, and turned south toward our destination, our boy attendant rushed close to my horse shouting, ‘Master, I am afraid ! Do you hear that noise?’

Halting a moment I could hear a tremendous rushing sound approaching. My first impulse was to lift the frightened boy on the back of the horse behind me. No sooner did I do that than a terrific hail-storm smote horse and rider, master and servant. It seemed that the celestial ‘ treasures of the hail ’ were poured out to the last handful. The horses reared and twisted, now to the right, now to the left, in dangerous confusion. The driving wind and the incessant downpour rendered us almost helpless. The few flickering lights in the town of Behamdûn were the only things we could see, and we pressed toward them. In the little village we left our boy.

Rishmey-yeh was yet more than two hours away, the storm was still on and the darkness palpable. The road passed through my home town, Betater, but as my parents were still completely ignorant of the treasure adventure, and, as I had planned to bring my share of the gold to them as a stunning surprise, we did not stop at our house on that night.

When we arrived, our partners at Rishmey-yeh were still up, eagerly awaiting us. We delivered our report to them in most glowing colors, for the purpose at least of justifying the extravagant expenditure of money on our trip. They stood aghast at the marvelous revelation of the Mûghreby’s diabolical knowledge. The women crossed themselves, — especially when we mentioned the fact that the magician read deep mysteries in an ordinary egg, — and implored the Divine protection.

It was unanimously agreed that Jurjus, instead of Jubbur, should return with me to Beyrout early on the morrow, purchase the ‘release’ from the Mûghreby on the best possible terms, learn the exact location of the treasure, and return at once. Notwithstanding the bewitching dream of great riches, the sense of economy still had its strong hold on Abu-’Azar. Our allowance, besides the Turkish pound for the Mûghreby, was much smaller than that granted on the previous trip, and we were instructed to return afoot.

In order to avoid arousing the suspicion of the townspeople we slipped out of Rishmey-yeh at early dawn. Reaching Behamdûn we picked up our boy attendant and proceeded to Beyrout with all speed, and very shortly after our arrival in the city called at the Mughreby’s house. With a strangely peculiar smile whose meaning I did not understand then as I do now, the magician remarked, ‘ I do not marvel’ (la aajab) ‘at your return.’

The various kinds of Russeds are ‘released’ by different means: some by the sprinkling of enchanted water, others by the burning of incense, others by the repeating of certain mystic words. ‘Our’ Russed required a powerful dose of strong incense, which the Mûghreby proceeded to prepare for us.

From a bag which contained many strange things, he produced a piece of frankincense about the size of a hazelnut, which, as I remember, looked like spruce-gum. He placed it in the hollow of his hand, looked up, turned his face to the right, then to the left, then in a semi-entranced manner seemed to repeat, inaudibly, a certain formula. After repeating the entire performance three times, he breathed on the lump, wrapped it in a piece of white muslin, and then said, presumably to himself alone, ‘Qatih-madhy!’ — decisive!

In the meantime we had become rigid with awe, but were restored to normal tranquillity by his saying to us, ‘Now you are safe; wealth and happiness will soon be yours.’

I received the mysterious object from his hand, paid him the price he had asked, and placed the lump securely in my girdle. We were instructed to burn the incense inside the cave in the presence of all the men of our party, and to dig within two cubits from the smooth rock toward the centre of the cave.

After leaving the presence of the Mûghreby, though it was far past the noon hour, Jurjus and I did not halt in Beyrout even long enough to have dinner: we bought some food and ate it while on the march. The darkness of the night overtook us when about halfway to our destination. Our steps grew heavier and heavier as we toiled on up the western slopes of Lebanon. Owing to the fact that I had had but little sleep, and had been on a forced march for practically forty-eight hours, my physical energy reached a very low ebb.

Jurjus, whose vocation was that of a silk-spinner, was even less accustomed to physical exertion than I was; therefore he also began to feel much more strongly inclined to drop by the wayside and go to sleep, than to continue the toilsome journey. As we reached the neighborhood of the town of Alieh, we saw a faint, flickering light in the direction of an old, little-frequented inn called Khan-el-Sheikh. The slight ray seemed to our weary souls so friendly, so compelling, that we concluded to replenish our stores of energy by seeking a few hours of sleep at the old inn.

As we passed under the heavy stone arch into the huge room where the khanati and his wife were, it seemed to me the most desolate, most fearfully haunted place on this planet . When we asked the burly, stolid khanati if we could have a ‘ sleeping-place in his hospitable khan, until the rising of the morning star, ’ he cast a measuring look at us which really frightened me; he then muttered a favorable answer, and after puffing a few times at his cigarette in a gloomily meditative mood, he led us into a repelling enclosure (he called it a room), threw a dilapidated straw mat on the humpy, earthen floor for our bed, and gave us an old blanket of goat’s hair to ‘cover us with.’ That was indeed the ‘abomination of desolation,’ but we decided to stretch our weary mortal bodies on what was left of that mat, for at least a couple of hours, and then continue our journey. But as soon as the khanati left us with his lantern (the only means of illumination he had) and we lay quiet between the mat and the blanket, our sleeping-quarters became strangely alive. Living creatures leaped from the cavernous stone walls and sprang from holes in the floor, even right under our mat, in ferocious gayety.

' Rats! ’ exclaimed Jurjus. ‘ One jumped on my tarboosh! They will eat us up.’

‘They certainly will do it,’ I said. And we decided that we would not be devoured by the rats on the eve of becoming millionaires; so we shook off the goat’s-hair blanket and darted out of the room like frightened steeds. When we told our host that we could not stay with him overnight he simply frowned at us and said, ‘ Rûho ’ — Go.

We did go, but it was terribly hard going. Darkness, hunger, fatigue, fear, and the rough stony road made the walking horrid toil. A short distance east of the town of Alieh there lies a deep rocky gorge, through which runs a small river called Bekhishtieh, at whose banks we feared the djinn might accost us, for the streams of water were the favorite haunts of those dread spirits. But on that night none of them were out, and we crossed the stream in safety. Before us as we stood on the eastern bank of the river towered the last chain of hills which we had to cross before our road took its downward course toward Rishmey-yeh. Before beginning our weary climb we sat for a little rest on a rock not far from the stream, in a world of darkness and silence. Presently we heard a jump, followed by a crashing tread among the fig trees near the road. A hyena! We had been taught that the joints of the hyena squeaked as he walked, and certainly we could hear the ‘squeaking’ and, as it seemed, see the faint outlines of the horrid form.

Without a word or even a whisper, and as by a power not our own, we sprang from our seats on the rock and dashed up the steep hill. Whether in a dream or in reality, whether we followed the road or not, how many times we stumbled and fell and rose again, I never could tell. I only know that when we spoke to one another again we were just below the crest of the hill on its eastern slope, speeding toward Rishmey-yeh, with my hand on the lump of frankincense in my girdle. It was past midnight when, with soiled and torn garments, bruised and exhausted, we reached our destination. Not until late in the afternoon of that day were we awakened and asked to give our report.

VI

The mysterious frankincense — the ‘ release ’ — and the simple instruction as to how to burn it in the cave were the alpha and the omega of our report. Indeed, nothing more was needed. Very early on the morrow the five men of our party (the women would not participate in the satanic performance) proceeded to the cave. Around a small charcoal fire we stood in a circle near the smooth rock, and as our venerable senior, Abu-’Azar, crossed himself and cast the potent incense into the fire, we all made the sign of the holy cross and said, ‘God cast thee off!’

As the smoke of the sizzling, gummy substance spread through the cave, Abu-Nezhim asserted that he heard a mysterious moaning just inside the door. Was it not from the vanquished Russed? At any rate the cave appeared to us to have suddenly become friendly, almost habitable, and with the strength and courage which confidence never fails to inspire, we proceeded to dig at the point indicated by the Mûghreby — within two cubits from the smooth rock, toward the centre of the cave.

By taking turns we toiled strenuously the whole day; we changed the location slightly from time to time, packing the dirt in the remote corners; we found an abundance of mortar and broken pottery, but no gold. Not even bones. At the end of the day, disappointed and exhausted, we returned to Abu-’Azar’s fireside for a final conference.

The seeming failure of all signs began to sober the enthusiasm and awaken the prudence of the older members of the party. Abu-Nezhim, who had a large family to support, and no source of revenue but his trade, began to waver. The dream of riches began to fade before the glowing satisfaction of actual, though modest, wages, the loss of which he could not endure much longer. Abu’Azar, the determining factor in our counsel, also seemed to be greatly perplexed. In a gravely meditative manner he stated that, while he had not lost all hope of finding ‘something’ in the mysterious cave, he was becoming increasingly aware of the very serious risk he was running. While we possessed nothing but our tools, he had his valuable property, which might be seized by the government authorities, if our secret became known. He said also that his slow progress in building had already been noticed by some of his friends, and that the aged Abbot of St. Elias’s convent had asked him why so little was doing under the large fig tree.

Abu-’Azar’s final decision was that we suspend our search for the treasure for the time being and proceed with the building. As long as the treasure had been ‘released,’ he thought we could dig for it at our convenience without inviting suspicion. Any other suggestion he would not countenance. AbuNezhim and Jubbur seconded the projected plan, but Jurjus and I dissented. Being in the minority and aware of Abu-’Azar’s immovableness, we did not argue long; we simply whispered to each other that we would not suspend the digging.

It was purely the exigency of the hour which forced me into this dual alliance. Jurjus was by no means my favorite of the company. He was a ‘ busybody in other men s matters, very insignificant in stature, of meagre features, and had the lamentable habit of coming uncomfortably close to you when he spoke. In short, Jurjus was such a type of man that, looking at him, a Socrates would have wondered whether great riches could really work beneficent changes in him.

On the following day Jurjus and I decided to reveal the secret of the treasure to a man named Faris, with whom we had a very pleasant acquaintance. Faris was the bully of the town, and, externally speaking, a magnificent specimen of manhood. But he was a dangerous idler, suspected of many crimes, and living the life of a defiant outlaw. However, it was just such a fearless man that we wanted in our perilous undertaking; therefore to Faris did we unfold our story.

It electrified him. ‘What is there to fear?’ was his ominous remark. ‘Neither angels nor devils can prevent us from finding the treasure.’

His words were music to our ears; here was a man who did not believe in digging for a treasure on the installment plan.

On the night we had chosen to dig for the treasure under the new management, the rain fell in torrents, which seemed to us a providential favor. Upon reaching the vineyard of St. Elias on our way to the cave, the enigmatic Faris crossed himself, bent his massive frame and kissed the terrace wall. We imitated his pious act. ‘They help,’ he said to us in a muffled tone. That was what we always believed.

Upon entering the cave our new accomplice made a quick survey of the spot, by the dim light of a tallow candle, and then in a seemingly abstracted manner removed the heavy cloak in which he was wrapped. I shall never forget that moment. With his high leathern gaiters, short shirwal (bloomerlike-trousers), a pair of pistols buckled at his waist, a handsome belt-knife held within his girdle, a yatekan (shortsword with a concave edge) dangling from his shoulder, and a felt cap with a small silk turban on his head, Faris towered before us in the ghastly light of that subterranean cavern like a mythical giant. It seemed to me that the Russed himself could not be more formidable than Faris. ‘What could we do with this man,’ I asked myself, ‘ if we found the treasure and he decided to take the whole of it?’ Our very lives were in his hands. He removed the weapons from his person, placed them with the cloak in a corner of the cave, and proposed that we proceed to dig hard by the smooth rock.

Our exertion on that memorable night in the damp, stuffy atmosphere of the mysterious cave approached suicide. We streamed with perspiration and burned with thirst; we toiled incessantly until past midnight, expecting every moment that the pickaxe would crash through the pot of gold; but all was in vain. Our supply of tallow candles being very limited, we did not dare waste much time in resting. When the hope of success seemed all but gone, we decided to take one more turn each at the digging before we abandoned our quest. So I jumped into the deep hole we had already dug, and before I had worked ten minutes the pickaxe brought to the surface several apparently human bones. Surely the treasure was near at hand. Had not the Mûghreby told us ‘when the bones appeared to look confidently for the fortune’?

No sooner did I say ‘bones!’ than Faris jumped into the hole, threw me out, and said, ‘It is my turn to dig!’

‘It is my turn,’ said Jurjus, timidly.

‘Stay where you are,’ retorted Faris. ‘I will see to it that each one of us has his share of the gold.’

Fearful and helpless, Jurjus and I instinctively went and sat close by the weapons. Should it become necessary we would, in self-defense, try to turn the giant’s arms against him.

Faris tore the ground up like a steam shovel, while his eyes searched every new shovelful of dirt with microscopic keenness. Suddenly he stopped, and leaning against the rock gazed interestedly into the hole. ‘We will dig no more to-night,’ he murmured, as he threw out the tools; ‘let us go home.’

‘Let me work my turn,’ said Jurjus.

But for some mysterious reason Faris was determined that we should dig no more on that night, and Jurjus and I could do nothing but yield to his wishes.

Of course it was not to be expected that our treachery could long be hidden from our former partners. On that very night, when Jurjus returned home in the small hours and stole into bed in the living-room where all the family slept, his father became suspicious of his behavior. When the family arose in the morning, Jurjus’s soiled clothes and the weariness which he could not disguise told the story.

Upon this Abu-’Azar started for the cave in grim silence. What he saw there lashed him into fury. To be so betrayed by his own son was more than he could bear. Jurjus must confess all, or be cast out of his father’s house and surrendered to the authorities.

Jurjus did make a clean breast of it and asked his enraged father’s forgiveness. But Abu-’Azar appeared determined to place Faris and me in the hands of the Turkish officials. Badly frightened, I lost no time in seeking Faris and telling him of the impending danger. The desperado’s eyes flashed fire as he said, ‘I will manage Abu’Azar in a short time.’

Later that night Abu-’Azar, responding to a knock, opened his door and found Faris standing outside, armed to the teeth. In a few words and in the manner of the men of his class, the giant told Abu-’Azar that if he made the matter known to the authorities, his whole family would be exterminated.

Two days later, encouraged by the temporary peace which Abu-’Azar felt forced to patch up with us, Jurjus and I visited the cave. In the neighborhood of the spot at which Faris had gazed so interestedly when he had ordered us to cease digging and go home, three days before, we found large pieces of pottery scattered around a small hole where a jar might have been placed. Startled, we sought Faris, but he was nowhere to be found.

Did Faris find the treasure? There was no one who could tell. It was five years later when, through a wheat-merchant, I next heard of him. He was then in the fertile region southeast of Damascus, where my informant found him in an opulent state, having supervision of large tracts of land. Whether Faris owned ail that land or not, the wheatmerchant did not know, but to all appearances he did, for he practiced the hospitality of an Arab emir and spent most lavishly. Not long after that I emigrated to America. But while on a visit to Syria, a few years later, I was very curious to know what had become of my friend Faris, and if possible to penetrate in some way the mystery of the treasure.

Abu-’Azar had long been gathered to his fathers. Faris, I was told, returned to Rishmey-yeh two years before my visit, stricken with a fatal illness. He willed the small house and few mulberry trees that he had inherited from his father to the convent of St. Elias. When he felt the great Destroyer approaching, he called for the parish priest, to whom he unburdened his soul in confession, a duty which he had neglected for many years. Those who kept the last vigil around his bed reported that in his delirious wanderings just before he breathed his last he twice uttered the name of Abu-’Azar.

Thus went Faris the way of all flesh, and the real secret of the treasure remained known only to him, and possibly to his confessor.

(The End.)