Ain-el-Khair drew a long-barreled pistol, which he pointed at the boy; but Frank did not seem at all frightened.
The caravan of camels had halted, and the Arabs were gathered in a group at a little distance, watching what was passing between the old sheik and the boy. Much nearer were the professor and Ephraim, who had also dismounted, their horses standing close at hand.
“I tell you it is not possible for you to harm me, Ain-el-Khair,” Frank again declared. “If you think you can, take aim and shoot. I dare you to do so.”
The old robber was not one to be dared in such a manner. He lifted the long-barreled pistol, and, without hesitation, fired at the boy.
When the pistol spoke Frank pretended to take the bullet from his teeth. He stood erect and unharmed, holding a round ball of lead between thumb and finger, smiling at the astounded Arab.
Ain-el-Khair staggered, his eyes bulging from his head.
“Allah save me!” he gasped. “He is not harmed!”
“Not in the least,” said the lad, easily. “You might fire a hundred bullets at me, and not one of them would do any harm.”
“You must be a sorcerer.”
“I am the greatest sorcerer alive. I cannot be slain, but I have power to slay by touch.”