CHAPTER XVII
HOW THREE ROADS LED IN ONE DIRECTION
The news that her lover was safe restored the sparkle to Irene's eyes and the color to her wan cheeks. Fenshawe, indeed, had not given her the full measure of Abdur Kad'r's breathless recital. Recent events had led the old curio-hunter to view life in less ultra-scientific spirit than was his habit. Perhaps he had re-awakened to the knowledge that the hearts of men and women are apt to be swayed by other impulses than his dry-as-dust interest in dead cities and half-forgotten races. Most certainly he was shocked by the agony in the girl's face when she heard that the sheikh had returned alone, and, if he wondered at the low wail of despair which broke from her lips, he said nothing of it at the moment, but mercifully suppressed Abdur Kad'r's story of the Effendi's resolve to make a stand against his pursuers, and thus enable his companion to reach and warn the camp.
The version Irene heard was that Royson's camel had fallen lame, and it was deemed safer he should hide until help came, than mount behind Abdur Kad'r and risk the slower journey. Fenshawe reasoned that Royson might be captured, not killed. His long experience of Arab life told him that the tribesmen would be chary of murdering a European, for fear of the vengeance to be exacted later. Nevertheless, this comforting theory was more than balanced by the disquieting facts revealed by the sheikh, who, as he rode wildly to the south, heard a sharp outburst of firing in the valley behind him.
Yet it was well that Irene had not been told the whole truth, else that anxious little heart of hers might have stormed itself into a fever of despair. As it was, her pent emotions found relief in tears of joy when the messengers brought the news of Royson's approach with the rescue party, and her eyelids were still suspiciously red, her lips somewhat tremulous, when, standing by her grandfather's side, she welcomed his return.
Though a hundred eyes were fixed on the two—though some of those eyes watched them with a keenness inspired by the belief that this reunion had in it a romantic element quite apart from the drama of the hour—their meeting apparently partook only of that friendly character warranted by the unusual circumstances. And, in the general excitement, none who looked at Royson paid heed to the hardships he had undergone. He had hardly closed his eyes during two nights and three days, for the rest obtained while he and Abdur Kad'r awaited the outcome of Hussain's embassy was calculated rather to add to his physical exhaustion than relieve it. He had covered eighty miles of desert on scanty fare, and had fought a short but terrific fight against a dozen adversaries. Yet, his cool demeanor and unwearied carriage conveyer! no hint of fatigue—to all outward seeming he might have been entering the encampment after an ordinary march, when a basin of water and a change of clothing were the chief essentials of existence. It was not so, of course. Were he made of steel he must have felt the strain of those sixty hours, and he almost yielded to it when he dismounted, and Fenshawe led him inside the mess tent.
The older man invited him to be seated, and tell his adventures while eating the meal which had been prepared for him and Stump as soon as their camels were seen in the distance. But Dick, half unconsciously, still clutched the broken rifle. There were blood stains on his clothing, which was ripped in the most obvious way by bullets that had either wounded him or actually grazed his skin. Fenshawe's keen old eyes made a rapid inventory of these signs of strife, and he forgot, in his anxiety, that Irene was present.
"Good heavens, man," he cried, "you have been in the wars. Did those scoundrels attack you, then? Are you hurt?"
"No," said Dick, sinking into a chair, and trying to speak with his customary nonchalance, "I am not injured—just a wee bit tired—that is all."
Irene flew to his side. She took the soiled gun-barrels, from his relaxing grip, and began to unfasten the collar hooks of his uniform.
"Don't you see he is almost fainting?" she demanded, reproachfully.
"Bring some brandy and cold water, quick! Oh, Dick, dear, speak to me!
Are you sure you are not wounded? If it is only want of food and sleep,
we can soon put that right, but do tell me if you have a wound."
Dick smiled, though he knew his face was white beneath the dust and tan, and he could not lift his arms for the life of him.
"I'm all right," he whispered. "I suppose I'm suffering from heart trouble, Irene. Haven't seen you for two nights and a day, you know."
He must have been a trifle light-headed, or he would not have spoken to her in that way before her grandfather. Mr. Fenshawe, remembering the girl's shyness of the previous day, may have thought a good deal, but said nothing, seeing that Irene was supremely indifferent to either his thoughts or his words at that instant, while Royson seemed to be heedless of any other fact than the exceedingly pleasant one that his beloved was holding a glass to his lips and asking him to gratify her by swallowing the contents.
As for Stump, who was not aware of his second mate's rise in the world, the manner of their speech affected him so powerfully that he was in imminent danger of an apoplectic seizure. His condition was rendered all the more dangerous because he dared utter no word. But he silently used the sailor-like formula which applies to such unexpected situations, and added certain other variations of the rubric from the extensive resources of his own private vocabulary. He recovered his breath by the time Dick's attack, of weakness had passed, and the color of his face slowly subsided from, a deep purple to its abiding tint of brick red.
"Rather a sudden indisposition," said Fenshawe to Stump, smiling quizzically as he watched Irene supporting Royson's head while she urged him tenderly to drink a little more of the stimulant.
"Is that wot you call it?" asked the captain of the Aphrodite, mopping his glowing cheeks with a handkerchief of brilliant hue. "I thought it was a stroke of some kind, 'but I've fair lost my bearin's since I gev' over plashin' at sea."
The amazement of the elders at the manner in which those young people addressed each other was slight in comparison with the thrill Royson caused when he had taken some soup, and was prepared to do justice to more solid food.
"I had a rather lively set-to with a number of Hadendowas," he explained in response to a question from Mr. Fenshawe. "It was brief but strenuous, and I assure you it is a marvel that I came out of it practically without a scratch. At any rate, it does not call for a detailed description now, seeing that I have something of vastly greater importance to tell you. May I ask, sir, if you have photographs of the papyrus in your possession?"
"Yes. They are in my tent. Shall I bring them?"
"If you please. I think I have news that will interest you."
"One word before I go. Abdur Kad'r said that the Italians had abandoned
Suleiman's Well. Have they found the treasure, do you think?"
"No, sir. Just the reverse. I believe that I have found it myself, and, if I am not mistaken, Mrs. Haxton and the Baron, from what Captain Stump tells me, are now far on their way to the right place, if they have not already reached it."
"Wot did I say, Miss Irene?" broke in Stump fiercely. "Oh, he's deep is that there Baron. I sized him up when he med off yesterday. An' Mrs. Haxton, too! A nice pair of beauties."
"Whatever wrong Mrs. Haxton may have done in the past, I refuse to believe that she was swayed by some merely selfish consideration in leaving us as she did," said Irene softly, and her grandfather thanked her with a look as he quitted the tent.
Stump shook his head.
"She's as artful as a pet fox," he growled; but he had no listeners.
Dick and Irene were far too much occupied in gazing at each other.
Mr. Fenshawe returned speedily. He spread out ten photographs on the table in front of Royson. With them was a typewritten document divided into ten sections.
"That is the English translation," he explained. "Each numbered division corresponds with a similar number on a photograph. It simplifies reference."
Dick examined the translation eagerly. The first slip of papyrus read:
"In the seventh year of the reign of the renowned Emperor, C. Julius Caesar Octavianus, I, Demetriades, son of Pelopidos, merchant of Syracuse, being at that time a trader in ivory and skins at Alexandria, did foolishly abandon my wares in that city, and join the legion sent from Egypt to subdue the people of Shaba."
He saw that the letters in the word "seventh," though writ in archaic Greek, bore the same space relation to the neighboring characters as did all others in the script. Reading on carefully until he came to the first leaf of the papyri in which the "Five Hills" were named, he observed Instantly that the word "pente," five, had its letters crowded together. Now the Greek for seven, hepta, has only four characters, the aspirate being marked over the initial vowel. This same crowding of "pente" was discernible each time it occurred in the text. It was a coincidence that was too intrusive. The obvious explanation was that "hepta" had been deleted and "pente" substituted in every instance, and the fraud had not been detected because the rest of the Greek writing was absolutely genuine. The hieroglyphs In cartouches, which von Kerber had admittedly tampered with, were beyond Royson's ken.
He was so taken up with this confirmation of his views, and so eager to make clear the queer chance that led Abdur Kad'r to explain the name of the Well of Moses, that he was blind to the growing wrath in Mr. Fenshawe's face until he happened to catch the indignant note in the older man's voice as he bade a servant summon the sheikh. Then a single glance told him what he had done. The wounded vanity of the famous Egyptologist had risen in its might, and swept aside all other considerations. The man of wealth could permit his charitable instincts to govern the scorn evoked by the Austrian's petty tactics, but the outraged enthusiasm of the collector was a torrent that engulfed charity and expediency alike in its flood. Nothing short of the most painstaking personal examination of the oasis at the Well of Moses would now convince the millionaire that von Kerber had not tricked him at the eleventh hour.
Though the expedition was in Italian territory, though he was aware that a tribe of hostile Arabs was already hovering on the outskirts of the camp, though the presence of Irene rendered it imperative that he should not risk the attack which would probably be made that night, these urgent conditions of the moment did not prevail in the least degree against the maddening suspicion that the self-confessed forger who had duped him had put the seal on a piece of clever rascality by exploiting the real treasure-ground for his own benefit.
Royson was far from expecting this development. Yet, now that it had occurred, he saw that it was inevitable. Before Abdur Kad'r appeared he guessed why Mr. Fenshawe wanted him in such a hurry. Irene, who had never known her grandfather to be so greatly disturbed, whispered earnestly to her lover:
"If grandad wishes you to follow von Kerber, you must be too ill to do anything of the sort."
"Then I shall remain here alone," said he, smiling at her dismay. "Unless I am much mistaken we shall all be hot on his track before we are many hours older."
He was right. When the sheikh came he received orders to prepare for an instant march towards the coast by way of the caravan route. Then the burning zeal of archeology received a check.
"It is impossible that the kafila should move in that direction before to-morrow's dawn, O worthy of honor," said Abdur Kad'r emphatically. "We can march south to-day, if Allah wills it, knowing that we shall find food and water within fifteen kilometers without fail. To reach the Well of Moses is a different thing. I have not seen the place during thirty years. We must travel early and late, and carry with us a water supply that will not only suffice for the journey but safeguard us against any failure of the well when we arrive there. What proof have we, Effendi, that it is not choked with sand?"
Fenshawe was too skilled in the varying contingencies of desert life not to admit the truth of the sheikh's reasoning, but he held to the belief that von Kerber had secret information as to the practicability of the route.
"Be it so," he said curtly. "Let every preparation be made. We have no cause to fear these dogs of Hadendowas. I charge myself with the care of the camp where they are concerned. See to it, Abdur Kad'r, that we start ere sunrise."
The conversation was in Arabic, so Stump could not gather its drift.
When he learnt his employer's intentions he roared gleefully:
"By gad, sir, I'm pleased to 'ear you're makin' for blue water once more. Just for a minute I fancied you was tellin' our brown pilot to shove after von Kerber, an' string 'im up."
Mr. Fenshawe laughed grimly.
"The rogue deserves it, but I cannot take the law into my own hands, captain," he said.
"Oh, that wasn't botherin' me," was the offhand answer. "I was on'y wonderin' where you would find a suitable tree."
Fenshawe bent over the table, and asked Royson to go through the papyri with him, comparing the Greek, word for word, with the translation. He himself was able to decipher the hieroglyphs, but the details and measurements they gave might be dismissed as unreliable. Depending, however, on the context, and having ascertained from Abdur Kad'r that the seven small lava hills at Moses's Well stood in an irregular circle near the oasis, it was a reasonable deduction that the Romans had selected a low-lying patch of sand or gravel somewhere in the center of the group as a suitable hiding-place for their loot. It might be assumed that Aelius Gallus meant to sail down the Red Sea again, within a year at the utmost, and recover the spoil when his galleys were there to receive it. Therefore, he would not dig too deeply, nor, in the straits to which he was reduced, would he waste many hours on the task.
Fenshawe infected Dick with his own ardor. The two were puzzling over each turn and twist of the Greek adventurer's awkward phrases when Irene, who had gone out with Stump, interrupted them.
"Dick," she said, blushing poppy red because she used his familiar name, "you must go and rest at once. I am sure, grandad, you don't want Mr. Royson to break down a second time, do you? And I would like both of you to know that Baron von Kerber took with him no pickaxes. Captain Stump and I have just checked our stock. That seems to be in his favor, I think?"
"If I have done von Kerber an injustice I shall be the first to ask his pardon," said Fenshawe. "At present, I have every cause to doubt the man's motives in leaving us, and I want more than negative proof to acquit him of dishonesty. By the way, Irene, have you told Royson of his good fortune?"
"I have hardly spoken two words to him since he arrived," said she innocently.
"Dear me! That sounds like a strong hint," and Fenshawe very considerately left the two alone. Tired as Dick was, the best part of an hour elapsed before Irene could explain fully that he was now a baronet, with a reasonably large income, or he could make her understand exactly why he was a somewhat frayed out-of-work when they met in London.
Perhaps there were interludes and interruptions. Perhaps he thought that the limpid depths of her brown eyes offered more attractions than the sordid records of a foolish man's spite and a boy's sufferings. At any rate, it was Irene who finally insisted that this must positively be the last, and who threatened that she would not speak to him again that day if he stirred out of his tent before dinner.
And, indeed, Dick required no rocking when, after a refreshing wash, he stretched his long limbs in his hammock. His sleep was dreamless. He awoke at sundown strong in the conviction that he had hardly closed his eyes.
He and Stump shared the tent, and Dick's uncertain gaze first dwelt on his skipper, who was seated at the door, smoking. Stump removed his pipe from between his teeth:
"Good evenin', Sir Richard," he said solemnly. Then the huge joke he had been cogitating ever since Irene informed him at luncheon that Royson was now a man of title mastered him completely.
"Sink me," he burst forth, "I've had some daisies of second mates under me in me time, but I've never bossed a bloomin' barrow-knight afore. My godfather! Won't Becky be pleased! An' wot'll Tagg say? Pore old Tagg! He'll 'ave a fit!"
"Look here, captain—" began Dick, swinging his feet to the ground. But Stump's slow-moving wits, given full time to get under weigh, were working freely; punctuating each pause with a flourish of his pipe, he continued:
"Lord love a duck, I can see Tagg blowin' in to a snug in the West Injia Dock Road, an' startin' ev'ry yarn with, 'W'en I sailed down the Red Sea with Sir Richard—' or, 'We was goin' through the Gut on a dirty night, an' Sir Richard sez to me—' Well, there, I on'y hope 'e survives the fust shock. W'en 'e gets 'is wind we'll 'ave a fair treat. Mind ye, I 'ad a sort of funny feelin' when you tole me in the train you was my second mate, an' you sat there a-wearin' knickers. It gev me a turn, that did. An' then, you took another twist at me by sayin' you'd never bin to sea. I knew things was goin' to happen after that. It must ha' bin, wot d'ye call it—second sight—for I knew then an' there I'd got a prize in the lottery—"
"Oh, shut up!" shouted Royson, diving frantically for his boots.
"That's no way for a barrow-knight to talk to 'is admirin' skipper," said Stump. "But I s'pose, now, it sounds queer to 'ave me a-callin' you Sir Richard, w'en, as like as not, I might be dammin' your eyes as second mate?"
Royson tried to escape, in his hurry he did not notice a bulky letter which lay on the top of one of his leather trunks. Stump called him back.
"You're missin' your mail, Sir Richard," he said, and Dick, perforce, returned. Oddly enough, the letter covered the initials "R. K." painted on the portmanteau. Turning a deaf ear to Stump's further pleasantries, he opened the envelope. A scrawl on a sheet of thin continental note-paper contained the brief statement that, "by inadvertence," von Kerber had "detained the enclosed letters and cablegrams." The enclosures, which were from Mr. Forbes, bore out the accuracy of Mrs. Haxton's revelations. He was, in very truth, the twenty-seventh baronet of his line, sole owner of Orme Castle and its dependencies, and befitted, by rank, descent, and estate, to take a social position of no mean order.
For an instant he forgot his surroundings. He recalled the stately old house and its beautiful park as he had last seen it, with all its glories rejuvenated by the money that was pouring in to the coffers of his detested relative. And now that malign old man was at rest, after a tardy admission of the grievous evil he had wrought to his brother's wife and son. Well, peace be to his crooked bones! Dick could have wished him safely in Paradise if the wish would restore to life his beloved mother. And she, dear soul—though he had forgotten her last night—perhaps her gentle spirit was shielding him as he stood with his back to the rock and faced the vicious swarm of Arabs in the darkness.
Then Stump's gruff accents broke in on his dreaming.
"Is it O.K., Sir Richard?" he asked. "Them's the papers von Kerber held up, I reckon? Have ye got a clean bill?"
Royson stooped and grasped Stump's shoulder.
"When we reach England, skipper," he said, "you and Tagg, and Mrs. Stump, too, for that matter, must come and see my place in the North. An' I'll tell ye wot," he went on, with fair mimicry of Stump's voice and manner, "you'll all 'ave the time of your lives, sink me, if you don't!"
Stump glared up at him. No man had ever before dared to reproduce that hoarse growl for his edification, and the effect was electrical. It might be likened to the influence exercised on a bull by the bellow of a rival. He took breath for a mighty effort—and Royson fled.
Be sure that Irene, though vastly occupied with work which von Kerber had performed hitherto—those small but troublesome items appertaining to the daily life of a large encampment—had an eye to watch for Dick's reappearance. She hailed him joyfully:
"Such news! The enemy proclaims a truce. Alfieri has sent in Hussain and Abdullah, not to mention the purloined camel. And one of his own men has brought a note for grandfather, asking an early conference."
At first, Royson was unfeignedly glad of this unlooked for turn in events. He did not share Mr. Fenshawe's optimism in the matter of a night attack by the Hadendowas, because Irene was there—and who could hope to shield her beyond risk of accident when long-range rifles were sniping the camp?
Alfieri's letter was civil and apologetic. He explained that he had no quarrel with the English leader of the expedition—his feud lay with the Austrian and the woman who had helped to despoil him (Alfieri) of his rights. He felt assured, he said, that Signor Fenshawe—whose fame as an Egyptologist was well known to him—would not be a consenting party to fraud, and he wished, therefore, to arrange a meeting for the following day, when he would state his case fully, face those who had robbed him, and leave the final decision with confidence in the hands of one whose repute made it certain that justice would be done.
The appeal was written in hardly intelligible English, but an Italian version accompanied it, and Irene was able to translate every word of the latter.
"Of course, grandad agreed," said Irene. "He has fixed on seven o'clock to-morrow for the conference. I am looking forward with curiosity to seeing Alfieri again. I remember him perfectly. Captain Stump and I had a good look at him in Massowah, you know."
"Has the messenger gone back already?"
"Oh, yes. He left the camp two hours ago."
"Did he speak to any of our men?"
"He may have done so. I'm not sure. We were so taken up with Alfieri's communication that we gave no heed to the Arab. But grandad said, by the way, that it was just as well he should see our strength, and that we had a dozen armed sailors here, in addition to so many natives. You are worrying about me, I suppose? Allow me to observe that I, as staff officer, have assisted the commander-in-chief to divide our forces into two strong guards for the night. Grandfather commands one, Captain Stump the other, while you, O King, have to sleep soundly until the dawn."
"But I have just slept eight hours!"
"Oh, well, being on the staff, I also arranged that we should mount guard together until eleven o'clock."
It went against the grain to dash her high spirits with the doubt that had seized him as soon as he heard of the Hadendowa Arab's departure. In all probability, the man had found out that von Kerber and Mrs. Haxton were no longer in the camp. The negro syces and other attendants were inveterate gossips, and it would be strange if they had not told him that some of their number were marching towards the sea with the Hakim-Effendi and one of the Giaour women. What would happen were this knowledge to come to Alfieri's ears? The man who had not scrupled to order the pursuit and capture—the death, if need be—of Royson himself and Abdur Kad'r, was not a stickler at trifles. It was reasonable to suppose that he was making overtures of peace solely because his scouts had revealed the size of the expedition. How would he act under these fresh circumstances? Judging by the pact, there could be only one answer.
"Now what is it?" pouted Irene, trying to assume an injured air when she saw the grave look in her lover's face. "Perhaps you don't care for the eleven o'clock idea? I thought you would like to sit and smoke, and tell me everything that happened since—since I said good-by to you the other evening, but, of course—"
"If you gaze at me so reproachfully, Irene, I shall kiss you now, this instant, under the eyes of every man, horse, and camel."
"Well, then, what is the matter? I know something is worrying you. I can read your face like a book."
"I distrust Alfieri, dearest,—that is all."
"But he simply dare not fight us. Grandad knows these Arabs for many years. He says that they depend wholly on a surprise. And how can we be surprised, when Alfieri himself admits that he is near, and has actually sent Abdullah, who can tell us the exact number of his men?"
"I think I shall call you Portia, not Irene, if you reason things out in that fashion."
She stamped a foot in mock anger.
"That is your old trick," she said. "You try to hide your thoughts by an adroit twist in the conversation. Out with it! What do you really fear?"
"Let us find Abdullah. Then I shall tell you."
The Spear-thrower, though polite, was not disposed to be communicative. The absence of the two people who were his allies had puzzled him, and none of the Arabs could meet his inquiries as to the motives which led to their sudden journey. In this man's attitude Royson found ample corroboration of his own estimate of Alfieri's views under similar conditions. Abdullah obviously did not believe that von Kerber had abandoned the quest. He fancied he was betrayed. If the chance offered, he might be expected to throw in his lot with Alfieri.
Though Irene was listening, and Dick was sure she had hit on the true cause of his anxiety, he determined to win Abdullah's loyalty. So he told him of Mr. Fenshawe's resolve to follow the seaward route.
"Your interests, whatever they may be, are absolutely safe if you trust us," he said. "The Baron, is only two marches ahead of us. He does not know we are going the same way. He thinks we are making for Pajura, so we will most certainly overtake him at the coast, if not earlier. Thus, you can convince yourself of his good faith, and you can see for yourself that the ultimate decision of affairs must rest with us."
The Arab bowed, but he kept a still tongue. Yet he admitted afterwards that Royson's words had diverted him from his fixed Intent to steal off when night fell, and urge Alfieri to pursue the runaways.
The Italian needed no urging. Dick advised Mr. Fenshawe to send out two men on horseback in order to locate the Hadendowas. Hussain, who was acquainted with the country, volunteered for this duty, and he and his companion came in at midnight with the depressing report that Alfieri and his free-booters were not to be found on the main track to Suleiman's Well.
By this time, not only Fenshawe and Irene, but Stump and Abdur Kad'r, when called into counsel, shared Dick's foreboding. It was impossible to do anything before dawn, and the sole difficulty that remained was to decide whether they should march, when the first streaks of light showed in the sky, or await the hour fixed for the interview with Alfieri. They resolved to leave Hussain and a few trustworthy men at the oasis, with instructions to remain there until eight o'clock. If Alfieri kept his tryst, they were to give him a letter, written by Irene, which asked him to follow and join the expedition. Otherwise, they were to ride after the caravan at top speed, and report his non-arrival.
So Dick and Irene missed that agreeable watch under the stars, and their thoughts, instead of being given to each other, were centered on the unlucky fortune-hunters whom accident or design had separated from them.
Yet, when the sun rose over the desert, it was exhilarating enough to find themselves riding side by side once more. The order of march was simple but well designed. Abdur Kad'r, in command of several Arabs on Bisharin camels, provided a mounted screen half a mile in front. Fenshawe, Royson and Irene, with some of the sailors, formed the advance guard. Then came the kafila proper, with the remainder of the Aphrodite's crew, under Stump's charge, as a rearguard. They had halted for breakfast, and were preparing for another long march before the heat of the sun enforced a rest, when Hussain overtook them. At eight o'clock Alfieri had not visited the rendezvous, nor was he to be seen an hour later from the summit of the last hill which gave a view of the oasis.
Ill news is little the better because it is expected, and every one was wishful to push on as quickly as possible. But the desert was inexorable in its limitations. Great speed means great exhaustion, and consequently greater demand for water. Nevertheless, they risked the chance of a dry spell at the journey's end, and, finally, despite Irene's protests against being left behind, Royson and Abdullah, with six of the Aphrodite's men, and Abdur Kad'r, at the head of thirty picked Arabs, went on at a spanking pace. They were now on the actual caravan path, having reached it by a cross-country line. According to the sheikh's calculations, they were ten miles from the Well of Moses at four o'clock, and sunset would take place at half-past six. The road was a bad one, and their camels were beginning to lag, but they counted on reaching the ancient camping-ground about half past five. Abdullah was the first to discover recent signs of a large kafila having passed that way. He it was, too, who raised a warning hand when they emerged from a wide valley and crossed a plateau, which, roughly speaking, was three miles from the well.
They halted, and strained eyes and ears. They could see nothing, owing to a few scattered hummocks in front, but they caught distinctly the irregular thuds of distant rifle-firing. That was enough. Careless of the rough going, or the condition of their camels at the close, they raced ahead madly. There was no question now of the odds they might have to face. Though the Hadendowas were well armed, and outnumbered them by two to one, Royson felt that the presence of the Englishmen, all of whom were ex-sailors of the Royal Navy, would nerve his Arab helpers to attack and defeat Alfieri's band of cutthroats. Moreover, von Kerber and his small escort were evidently making a fight of it, and, while daylight lasted, the Hadendowas, once discovered, would endeavor to shoot down their quarry at a safe range rather than undergo the certain loss of an open assault.
How long could the unequal contest be maintained—that was the question that tortured Dick. Many times during that wild ride he asked it, and the only answer he received was given by despair. It came to him through a spume of dust and flying sand, and the rattle of accouterments, and the plaints of frenzied camels, and the yells and curses of the strangely-assorted company of deliverers as they plunged across the desert towards the Well of the Seven Hills. And its discordant shriek was, "Too late! Too late! The gods have frowned on the pillagers of Saba, and the wrath of the gods is everlasting!"