“It was thy brother whom I delivered from slavery in Nubia,” he said. “Then thou didst fall on my neck and weep and swear by the Prophet that whatever I should ask of thee at any time thou wouldst grant. Hast forgotten?”
“It is true, noble sheik,” confessed the priest; “but tell me hast thou forgotten thy religion that thou canst defend an infidel who has defiled the temple of Mohammed?”
“Ras al Had never forgets. These infidels are mighty and powerful, and should harm come to them through thee, then thou wilt be forced to make reparation in the dust. For thy own good, stand aside and let them pass.”
There seemed to be great command in the dark eyes of the swarthy man, and those eyes were fixed on the priest with burning insistence.
The priest hesitated a moment longer, and then, bowing low with dismay and regret he could not utter, he stood aside.
Ras al Had marched on, his servants following, still with Dick and Nadia in their midst.
They reached the camel train. Behind them the mob had melted away. The danger was past.
“Dick,” said Nadia, pressing Merriwell’s arm, “I think that old man is just splendid! I never dreamed a black man could be so fine!”
Ras al Had turned to them.
“Boy,” he spoke, “it has been truly said that Ras al Had is one who never forgets a debt. Yet when I gave you my word to defend you with my sword and life should the time ever come that I found you in peril, I little thought to what it would bring me. Still I have canceled the debt, and I feel that I owe you nothing.”