FEERDA, THE CHIEF’S DAUGHTER, LISTENS ENRAPTURED TO CRAIG’S TALES OF FARAWAY AMERICA.
CRAIG FRANTICALLY ASSISTED IN DRAGGING PEOPLE FROM THE BURNING CAR.
“It is Fate,” Craig muttered. “I am worn out with trying to escape, Feerda. They will come soon and release you.”
She opened her lips to shriek, but Quest, who had made a gag of her linen head-dress, thrust it suddenly into her mouth. He took Craig by the collar and led him to the spot where the others were waiting. They hoisted him on to a horse. Already behind them they could see the flare of the torches from the returning Mongars.
“You know the way to Port Said,” Quest whispered. “See that you lead us there. There will be trouble, mind, if you don’t.”
Craig made no reply. He rode off in front of the little troop, covered all the time by Quest’s revolver. Very soon they were out of the jungle and in the open desert. Quest looked behind him uneasily.
“To judge by the row those fellows are making,” he remarked, “I should think that they’ve found Feerda already.”
“In that case,” the Professor said gravely, “let me recommend you to push on as fast as possible. We have had one escape from them, but nothing in the world can save us now that you have laid hands upon Feerda. The Chief would never forgive that.”