"Well, I suppose we must part," smiled Selim, holding out his hand as the last of the bags was laced in the leathern flaps. "It would be insincere to say that I am not sorry at finding you here before me, but I am really very glad we did not have to fight. To tell the truth, my men were almost too frightened to remain here, and had it come to fighting, they would have refused point-blank."
"Well," laughed Schoverling whimsically, "I might as well show under true colors, since you have led the way," and he called in all the men. At sight of their real numbers, Selim gave a shout of laughter.
"Good, brother, good!" he cried as he urged his camel forward from its knees. "We played the game well, you and I." He waved a hand as the camel plunged into the water at the ford. "Abqa'la kheir!"
"Abqa'la kheir," shouted the American, and the two boys waved their hats with attempts at the Arabic, which drew a last laughing wave from Selim. Then his camel went up the farther bank.
"That means 'until the next time,'" laughed Schoverling. "Well, I'm glad that we got out of that as we did."
"So am I," declared von Hofe, smiling broadly. "See, they are going."
So it appeared, for as Selim joined the rest there was an immediate bustle. The camels were unpicketed, the saddles adjusted, and the camp broken. All twelve Arabs were now in camp, and one by one the awkward steeds rose to their feet.
"They're mighty fine beasts," declared Schoverling. "No common camels there, but picked racers, worth a fortune apiece. Selim does things up right, no doubt about that."
"He come pretty near doing us up right," grinned Jack. Then came a flutter of the burnouses, those on the island waved, and the group of camels moved away at an amazing speed, to the southwest.
"Probably going to circle around the hills and strike for the north," commented Charlie.