They hastened up the narrow street, now crowded with soldiers, prisoners, camels, and horses; and, escaping the missiles thrown by infuriated Moslem women from the housetops, soon overtook Amzi and Asru. All proceeded at once to the camp of Abu Sofian.
Some large tents were set apart for the wounded Koreish, and here Yusuf and Amzi found speedy occupation in binding wounds, and giving drinks of water to the parched soldiers. Manasseh entered with them.
"What means this?" cried Henda. "Did I not have you conveyed, soaked with blood, among the wounded of the Koreish?"
"I have not been wounded to-day," returned Manasseh. "Read me this riddle, Henda. There must be a second self—"
"Here, Manasseh!" interrupted Yusuf from one side. "Had you a twin brother, this must be he."
Yusuf was bending over a youth whose dark eyes spoke of suffering, and who lay listlessly permitting the priest to bathe his blood-covered brow. His eyes were fixed on Manasseh, who was quickly coming forward, and those near wondered at the striking resemblance, more marked than is often found between brothers.
"Who are you, friend?" asked Manasseh, curiously.
"Kedar the Bedouin!" returned the youth, proudly. "Though how I came into a Koreish camp, is more than I can explain."
"For that you may thank your resemblance to me," laughed Manasseh. "You are weak, Kedar, my proud Bedouin, and we will ask you to talk but little; yet, I pray you, tell me, who was your father?"
"Musa, the Bedouin Sheikh,"—haughtily.