Here the Kardu ran broad and wide and shallow, the crystalline water rippling around huge smooth boulders. Squarely in the midst of the ford was a tiny island. A natural fortress with a solitary rock formation fringed by willows and tamarisk. Nick urged the tired horse into the stream and made for the island. The rocks and foliage would provide good cover. With any luck he should be able to hold of the caravan until a patrol arrived or, at the very least, make the Basque turn back. Swiftly he made his dispositions. He could hear the groaning of camels now and there was a light cloud of dust to the north. The Basque was going to attempt the crossing in daylight. Nick could understand the man's reasoning — no patrols had appeared, and it was unlikely that this ford would also be mined. Most important was the fact that the opium the caravan was carrying would be worth millions of dollars when processed into heroin and cut. The Syndicate was dollar conscious, just as any business organization.
