“You—you treacherous snake!” he panted.
With all the strength he could summon, he struck the old sheik in the face.
The mob gasped, and then it howled. It pressed forward, seeking to lay hands on the tottering boy who had dared strike one of the true faith.
Again Ras al Had drew his sword. Some of them expected to see him run the infidel through the body. Instead of that, he drove them back.
“Keep thy hands off him!” commanded the sheik. “Leave him to me!”
Once more he clutched the lad, who was swaying and apparently ready to fall.
“Don’t touch me, you traitor!” gasped Merriwell. “I wish I had left you to die beside the railroad, instead of pumping the breath of life back into your miserable, old carcass!”
“You are mad, boy.”
“That’s right, I am!”
“Tell me what happened?”