He had caught sight of his father and friends being led up the valley by their Arab captors. The camels on which they rode seemed only crawling, so small did they appear.
As usual, his binoculars were strapped over his shoulder, and he took them out to get a closer view. Through them he could see the worried expressions on his friends’ faces, and the surly grins of the Arabs.
There was a sort of narrow ledge that passed up the little valley and around the mountain. It was up this that the captives were being led.
“There’s probably a hideout somewhere around here,” the youth thought, shifting his eyes from the camel procession to the rugged country ahead.
From his lofty perch it might be possible to get a glimpse of the hidden cave in which were the riches. Bob scanned the landscape about him but finally gave up and again followed the movements of his friends and the Arabs.
“If it’s anywhere around here, it’s concealed from view,” he thought.
The youth was crouching low behind a flat shelf of rock, so as to be invisible to the Arabs if they should happen to look up in that direction. He knew that their seeing him would spell his doom.
As Bob watched the line of camels and their riders, it seemed that they were making no time at all; yet he knew that they were winding around the mountain as fast as possible.
Up, up, up they went, but always in sight. Bob noticed that they were gradually moving away from him, and he wondered if he would be able to follow their movements to the end.