But distant as the scene of the conflict was, the firing reached their ears till it was turning dusk, when it suddenly ceased, as if either one side was conquered or a mutually agreed cessation of hostilities had taken place.
The first definite news of the state of affairs reached the Emir’s palace just when a considerable lapse of time had occurred without news, the last being of a kind to create anxiety, the Sheikh coming in from the gate to announce that a messenger had arrived at a gallop to summon the troop of horse, who had gone off leaving their guard looking careworn and anxious, while he forbore to speak.
And now the messenger who had suddenly galloped up to the entry, dashed in at once, flung his bridle to the Sheikh as he leapt down, and strode in to where the friends were anxiously waiting. All started and glanced at the open window, where a glimpse could be obtained of Ibrahim, to whom and his camels every thought was turned, as, without intercommunication, the same thought prevailed—flight, and would there be time to obtain their camels and make for the open desert before the victorious enemy arrived?
For the messenger, who came looking wild and excited, his flowing white garment covered with blood and dust, was the Hakim’s last patient—the Emir’s son.
Chapter Twenty Seven.
Another Patient.
The young Baggara chief was evidently in a wild state of excitement, and turned at once to the professor, saying something in his own tongue, which the Englishman struggled hard but failed, in spite of his slight knowledge of the Baggara dialect, fully to grasp.
“I can’t make him out,” said the professor excitedly. “It is something about a terrible battle and defeat.”