“I have done,” said the professor. “Try.”
Frank nodded, and signed to the old Sheikh to come to them.
He came, looking extra solemn and quiet.
“You will go to the head guard, Ibrahim, and tell him I want my horse as soon as it can be brought to the door.”
“Yes, Excellency.”
“You will then saddle your best camel and spread upon it, so that they can be seen, this bit and bridle and trappings. If the guard asks where I am going you can tell him that I am going to take a present to the young chiefs friend.”
“Yes, Excellency. He will be sure to ask.”
“Good,” said Frank, and the old man went out without another word, while Frank coolly prepared for his short journey by putting on the rich robe that had been given to him, and buckling on his sword and knife, finishing off with a handsome turban of the kind the desert warriors wore.
“Here is Ibrahim back,” said the professor, as he saw the old man reappear before Frank was ready. “He is coming to say that you cannot have a horse.”
“But he has gone to get his camel ready all the same,” said Frank, smiling, and about a quarter of an hour later the Arab that Frank rode was led ambling up to the door of their quarters by one of the guard.