“Well, that certain was an adventure, all right,” laughed Brad, when they were again seated in their compartment and the train was moving.
“I don’t know what I’ll do with you boys!” exclaimed Professor Gunn, with an air of exasperation. “You keep me on pins and needles all the time. I surely thought those Arabs would slice you up when they saw you go after the old sheik. They thought you were defiling the dead.”
“But the old boy was grateful when he learned that we had pumped the breath back into him,” said Dick.
“He pretended to be,” nodded the professor; “but that is no sign.”
“Why not?”
“He’s a Mohammedan, and they think it no harm to do anything to an infidel. They may deceive him, lie to him, steal from him, even kill him, without committing a sin. Richard, do not take any stock in the words of that old rascal.”
“I don’t have to,” said young Merriwell; “for it is not likely I’ll ever see him again. All the same, I seemed to feel that he was sincere when he expressed his gratitude.”
“It’s evident he’s a gent of some authority in his tribe,” put in Brad. “All the rest of his particular bunch seemed to stand in awe of him a plenty.”
Their interest in the strange country, together with their recent adventure, gave them food enough for conversation, and the journey was not nearly as long as they had expected it would seem.
At last, as the train approached Damascus, they found themselves in a narrow valley that was almost a gorge. Through this valley a clear stream rushed and roared over an exceedingly rocky bed. This stream drove a number of mills, the entrances to which were always surrounded by donkeys and camels, these animals having brought little loads of grain to the mills to be ground.