Ammalat grasped the messenger by the hand.  “How is Sultan Akhmet Khan?” he enquired hurriedly:  “What news bring you from him—­how long is it since you have seen his family?”

“Not to answer, but to question, am I come....  Will you follow me?”

“Where? for what?”

“You know who has sent me.  That is enough.  If you trust not him, trust not me.  Therein is your will and my advantage.  Instead of running my head into a noose to-night, I can return to-morrow to the Khan, and tell him that Ammalat dares not leave the camp.”

The Tartar gained his point:  the touchy Ammalat took fire.  “Saphir Ali!” he cried loudly.

Saphir Ali started up, and ran out of the tent.

“Order horses to be brought for yourself and me, even if unsaddled; and at the same time send word to the Colonel, that I have ridden out to examine the field behind the line, to see if some rascal is not stealing in between the sentries.  My gun and shashka in a twinkling!”

The horses were led up, the Tartar leaped on his own, which was tied up not far off, and all three rode off to the chain.  They gave the word and the countersign, and they passed by the videttes to the left, along the bank of the swift Azen.

Saphir Ali, who had very unwillingly left his bottle, grumbled about the darkness, the underwood, the ditches, and rode swearing by Ammalat’s side; but seeing that nobody began the conversation, he resolved to commence it himself.

“My ashes fall on the head of this guide!  The devil knows where he is leading us, and where he will take us.  Perhaps he is going to sell us to the Lezghins for a rich ransom.  I never trust these squinting fellows!”

“I trust but little even to those who have straight eyes,” answered Ammalat; “but this squinting fellow is sent from a friend:  he will not betray us!”

“And the very first moment he thinks of any thing like it, at his first movement I will slice him through like a melon.  Ho! friend,” cried Saphir Ali, to the guide; “in the name of the king of the genii, it seems you have made a compact with the thorns to tear the embroidery from my tschoukha.  Could you not find a wider road?  I am really neither a pheasant nor a fox.”

The guide stopped.  “To say the truth, I have led a delicate fellow like you too far!” he answered.  “Stay here and take care of the horses, whilst Ammalat and I will go where it is necessary.”

“Is it possible you will go into the woods with such a cut-throat looking rascal, without me?” whispered Saphir Ali to Ammalat.

“That is, you are afraid to remain here without me!” replied Ammalat, dismounting from his horse, and giving him the reins:  “Do not annoy yourself, my dear fellow.  I leave you in the agreeable society of wolves and jackals.  Hark how they are singing!”