"Helmar is a very old friend of mine, sir. We came to this country together—in fact, we left the University for that purpose. I remember him being captured near Kafr Dowar; he was on patrol with an officer of the Engineers."
"Ah," replied the officer, "that is all the better. But we must start at once. You," he went on, turning to George, "had better take one of your men's horses and ride with me in advance of the rest of the party."
He was about to turn to his horse when, seeing Osterberg's speaking glance, he smiled and continued—
"Yes, you can accompany us, but hurry up!"
The young man, delighted at this extreme mark of favour, jumped on his horse, and Helmar, in obedience to the officer's instructions, took Belbeis's horse.
"It is good," said the Arab, "the master's work is now done. Be careful of him," he went on, handing over his sleek Arab charger. "He is Naoum's favourite steed, and will never fail you. I regret that he is wounded."
Belbeis and the guide now remained with the main body, whilst Helmar and Osterberg joined the officer, who, accompanied by an escort of four men, started at once for head-quarters.
"By the way," said the officer, after they had ridden a little way in silence, "the man who was leading the rebels is a prisoner—he is a white man. Do you know anything of him?"
George glanced at his young friend riding beside him.
"Do I know him, sir?" he said, repeating his superior's question. "There is a story of villainous treachery surrounding that man that will sound to you like fiction; if it will not weary you, as we have yet some miles to travel, I will tell it."