For answer she pointed out over the desert. Far away, miles on the other side of the scene of the fight, a small body of men were riding towards them.
“By Jove, yes; there’s some one there. Who can it be?”
They were all straining their eyes, but the distance was so great that they could only be sure that they were camel-men and about a dozen in number.
“It’s those devils who were left behind in the palm grove,” said Cochrane. “There’s no one else it can be. One consolation, they can’t get away again. They’ve walked right into the lion’s mouth.”
But Mrs. Belmont was still gazing with the same fixed intensity, and the same ivory face. Now, with a wild shriek of joy, she threw her two hands into the air. “It’s they!” she screamed. “They are saved! It’s they, Colonel, it’s they! Oh, Miss Adams, Miss Adams, it is they!” She capered about on the top of the hill with wild eyes like an excited child.
Her companions would not believe her, for they could see nothing, but there are moments when our mortal senses are more acute than those who have never put their whole heart and soul into them can ever realise. Mrs. Belmont had already run down the rocky path, on the way to her camel, before they could distinguish that which had long before carried its glad message to her. In the van of the approaching party, three white dots shimmered in the sun, and they could only come from the three European hats. The riders were travelling swiftly, and by the time their comrades had started to meet them they could plainly see that it was indeed Belmont, Fardet, and Stephens, with the dragoman Mansoor, and the wounded Soudanese rifleman. As they came together they saw that their escort consisted of Tippy Tilly and the other old Egyptian soldiers. Belmont rushed onwards to meet his wife, but Fardet stopped to grasp the Colonel’s hand.
“Vive la France! Vivent les Anglais!” he was yelling. “Tout va bien, n’est ce pas, Colonel? Ah, canaille! Vivent la croix et les Chretiens!” He was incoherent in his delight.
The Colonel, too, was as enthusiastic as his Anglo-Saxon standard would permit. He could not gesticulate, but he laughed in the nervous crackling way which was his top-note of emotion.
“My dear boy, I am deuced glad to see you all again. I gave you up for lost. Never was as pleased at anything in my life! How did you get away?”
“It was all your doing.”