One of the men was speaking to Ali Beha. The chief rose and followed this man a little apart, where he stood gazing toward a distant ridge, over which horsemen were riding. These horsemen were coming straight toward the Bedouin camp.
Quickly the Bedouins gathered with their arms, ready to repel an attack, if necessary. They set up a shout, which was answered by the approaching horsemen. This answer seemed to relieve the Bedouins, for, instead of preparing for battle, they uttered cries of welcome.
For the time attention was turned from the captive at the post. Dick was hopeless, and he paid little heed to the strange horsemen. He was watching Bunol.
The Spaniard was impatient over the delay.
“More of the dirty Arabs,” he muttered.
The leader of the strangers seemed to be a man of some distinction, for Ali Beha hastened to bow low before him, his manner most humble. This leader was an old man, yet he dismounted from his horse with some sprightliness and looked around. His eyes fell on the white youth, who was tied to the post, his bare body shining in the sun.
“What is this, Ali Beha?” he demanded.
“Only a dog of a foreigner whom we are about to flog.”
The stranger stepped quickly forward and obtained a look at Dick’s face. Instantly his manner underwent a change. He straightened to his full height, lifted his hand, and cried:
“Release him at once! He is my friend!”