THE BULLET-PROOF MAN.

A STORY OF NORTHERN AFRICA.

BY DAVID KER.

A bright, burning summer day on the border of the Sahara Desert; the huge bare cliffs of the El Kantarah Pass hanging like a cloud on the northern horizon; a quivering film of intense heat along the line where the rich blue of the cloudless sky met the hot, lifeless, brassy yellow of the desert; and in the foreground a group of Arabs, encamped beside a tiny stream, in the shade of the clustering palms that overhung it.

Some were munching handfuls of parched corn, others were lying fast asleep, while one dried-up old scarecrow with one eye, and a head like a worn-out scrubbing-brush, was droning out some interminable Eastern legend.

The story did not appear to get on very fast, however, which was not surprising, inasmuch as the whole of it, from beginning to end (if it ever had any), was pretty much in this style:

"Now when the Prince Selim (may his name be honored forever!) came up to the gate of the palace—a gate higher than the dome of the Kaabah [holy place] at Mecca, and built all of marble whiter than the whitest milk—lo! there stood before it a giant, mighty and exceeding terrible. Then was the Prince of Gulistan sore amazed, and said, 'Never since I, Selim, son of Mahmoud, son of Sayid, son of Ali, first wore a yataghan [sabre] have I beheld such a monster as this!'"

And so on for another half-hour, keeping poor Prince Selim waiting at the gate of the palace.

But on a sudden an exclamation of astonishment broke from one of the group, and all eyes were turned to stare at a spectacle quite as wonderful to them as any of the marvels to which they had just been listening.

Sauntering leisurely over the burning plain, as composedly as if he were lounging along the boulevards of Paris or St. Petersburg, instead of traversing one of the most dangerous spots in the whole north of Africa, was a solitary man, coming slowly toward them. True, he wore the white mantle and huge many-folded turban of the East, but he was none the less a European, as his fair complexion, well-trimmed beard, and jauntily cut pants sufficiently showed.

Instantly the universal listlessness changed to bustle and excitement. The sleepers woke up, the lunch party forsook their dates and corn, the story-teller and his hearers started to their feet together, and all alike hurried forward to meet their strange visitor.

But to their unbounded amazement the strange visitor took no notice of them whatever beyond a slight bow and the usual "Peace be with you!" spoken in good Arabic, though with an unmistakably French accent. Stepping into the shade of the palms, he bent down to the stream, took a long draught of the cool clear water, and then seating himself upon the bank, took off his turban, and began to fan his hot face with a fallen palm leaf, as if wishing to show his coolness in a double sense.

The Arabs were completely taken aback. They had seen men look pale, and try to run away from them; and they had seen men look fierce, and rush at them pistol in hand; but a man who paid no attention to them at all, and who hardly seemed to know whether they were there or not, was a thing which they had never seen before, and they did not know what to make of it. In fact, like most men of their class, the moment they encountered a man whom they could not frighten, they at once began to be frightened themselves.

At length the chief, seeming to think himself bound to set an example of courage to his followers, walked right up to the stranger, while the rest approached more cautiously, very much as a man approaches a strange dog which may spring up and bite him at any moment.

"Peace be with thee, my brother!" said the chief, in a voice not quite so steady as it might have been.

"With thee be peace, oh, sheik [chief] of the children of the desert!" replied the unknown.

"What seeks the Frank [European] chief among the warriors of the tribe of Ben-Asyr?"

"I am a magician," answered the stranger, quietly.

The Arabs looked at each other with undisguised trepidation. A magician among them, and a Frank magician at that! Who could tell what he might do to them? For every Arab had heard the fame of the mighty sorcerers who could make wagons run without horses, ships go without sails, messages fly along a wire through the air swifter than an arrow, little scraps of paper serve as money, and other scraps of paper, no bigger than a true believer's turban, show the whereabouts of all the wells, rivers, hills, and caravan tracks, over an area of thousands of miles. Evidently this unknown gentleman was not a man to be trifled with.

"I am a magician," repeated the mysterious guest, before any one could speak in reply, "and I have come to see if in the tribe of Ben-Asyr there be another magician like myself, and to try my power against his."

This challenge was followed by a gloomy and universal silence. But suddenly a cunning twinkle showed itself in the chief's small rat-like eye. Perhaps this strange man was only boasting in order to frighten them. At any rate, it might be worth while to see what he was made of, and how much he could really do. So the chief made a very polite bow, and said:

"We are far from the tents of our tribe, and none of our great magicians are with us; but let the wise man of the Franks show us his power, that we may behold it, and honor him as he deserves."

"That will I do willingly," answered the stranger, with a readiness which rather disconcerted the worthy chief. "Look all of you upon this coin"—and he held out a silver franc—"which I have marked with a circle, as ye see. Thinkest thou, O sheik of the Ben-Asyr, that thou canst hold it too firmly for me to take it away?"

"With the blessing of Heaven and of the Prophet, I can," replied the chief, confidently.

"Let us try, then," said the stranger, pressing the coin into the Arab's extended hand, which instantly closed upon it as if meaning never to let it go again.

"Presto! pass!" shouted the magician, in a high, shrill voice; and the chief, opening his hand, found to his unfeigned dismay that it was empty.

Amid the general silence and bewilderment, the stranger pointed to a huge overripe date that lay rotting on the ground at some distance, which one of the Arabs instantly handed to him. One stroke of a knife laid it open, and out tumbled the marked coin.

There was a visible movement of surprise among the Arabs, and even the chief himself looked not a little discomfited.

"For a warrior of the desert, thou art easily conquered," said the Frenchman, jeeringly; "but it is no wonder that ill fortune should come upon the tribe of Ben-Asyr, when their chief himself, a follower of the Prophet, carries with him the liquor which the Prophet forbade."

"What mean you?" cried the chief, fiercely.

"This," answered the other, as, thrusting his hand into the sheik's wallet, he held forth to the horrified eyes of the band a small flask of unmistakable French wine.

"Dog of a Frank!" roared the sheik, losing all patience, "do you dare to try your magical tricks upon a true believer? Take that!"

He snatched a pistol from his girdle, and aimed it full at the conjurer's face; but it only flashed in the pan, and as he dashed it furiously to the ground, his unmoved opponent laughed disdainfully.

"Do you think, then, that I am to be hurt by mortal weapons? Try it again, if you will; or rather let me load a pistol for you, and you shall see whether I am bullet-proof or no."

He drew a second pistol from the girdle of the sheik, who was too much astounded to object, and loaded it before the eyes of the whole band, marking the ball with his knife just before dropping it into the barrel.

"Fire!" cried he, putting the weapon into the sheik's hand.

The chief fired, and for a moment the smoke hid everything. When it cleared, the stranger, with a mocking smile on his face, was seen to let fall the marked bullet from his mouth into his hand, and hold it up for every one to look at.

The dark faces of the Arabs turned perfectly green with terror; but before anybody had time to say a word a loud shout was heard from behind, and up dashed three mounted French officers with a score of light horsemen.

Instantly the Arabs took to their heels with a howl of dismay, never waiting to see whether the new-comers were real men, or phantoms called up by the terrible magician. The spot was deserted in a moment, and far out on the plain might be seen a confused whirl of arms, limbs, and white mantles flying along like dust driven by the wind.

"Really, M. Houdin, you must be more careful," cried the French Colonel, excitedly. "To think of your venturing alone among all those cut-throats! What a fright you've given us!"

"And somebody else too, seemingly," said Robert Houdin—for it was indeed the famous sleight-of-hand artist—glancing slyly at the flying Arabs. "When I first came upon them I knew it was no use running, so I decided to face it out, and scare them a little instead. The next time you make a raid through these parts, Colonel, take a few conjurers with you; they'll be worth a whole battalion of infantry, take my word for it."