The Hakim smiled, raised the glass to his lips, and looking frankly in his patient’s eyes drank about a third of the liquid slowly, and would have gone on, but the Baggara signed to him to desist, took the glass, and swallowed the remainder, to stand for a few minutes with his eyes half-closed and his hand clutching his brother chief’s arm desperately.
“Why doesn’t he make him lie down?” said the professor in a low tone to Frank, who was standing by his companion’s side as if waiting for the Hakim’s next command, but watching everything keenly the while.
“Afraid it would have a bad effect upon the people,” said Frank in the same low tone. “He has given him a dose of ammonia.”
“If he goes down, my lad, I’m afraid that it will be bad for us.”
“Afraid?” replied Frank. “We have made our plunge, and nothing must make us afraid.”
“That’s right,” said the professor; “but I wish that stuff would begin to act.”
“It is beginning to act,” said Frank. “Look!”
He was right, for the chief drew a deep breath, his muscles seemed to be growing more firm, and he stepped back from his companion, then signed for his shield to be handed to him, placed the loops over the bandaged arm, took his two spears, beckoned to the follower who held his horse, and stood for a minute or two making believe to pat its beautiful, arching neck and arrange its mane before placing a foot in the stirrup and springing into the saddle, when another shout arose from his followers, and Frank breathed more freely.
“That’s about as savage, bloodthirsty a brute as his younger companion,” said the professor softly; “but he’s a brave man.”
“Yes,” said Frank laconically, as he kept his eyes fixed nervously upon the chief. “Think he’ll be able to keep his seat?”