CHAPTER XXII—IN THE DESERT
Three days have passed, and it is morning on the desert. The huge, golden sun rose over the edge of the barren world, and its rays fell on a lonely camel train that was already on the move.
The camels were loaded with merchandise from the interior and bound for the port of Akka.
A noted Syrian merchant was in charge of the train. There were other Syrians, but most of the camel drivers were Arabs.
Mounted on one of the many camels were Dick Merriwell and Brad Buckhart, minus their disguises and wearing their own clothes.
Professor Gunn was swaying and rocking miserably on the back of another camel, his companion being one of the Syrians.
Brad Buckhart looked no less disconsolate than the professor, while the expression on Dick Merriwell’s face was not one of absolute satisfaction and contentment.
Brad was grumbling.
“Pard, I sure am a heap sore.”
“So am I,” admitted Dick. “Camel riding isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. It is enough to make any one sore.”