“On the way back to camp this morning, I came upon some Tuaregs who live in a tent village several miles from here. They were very friendly and wanted me to stay longer, but I told them I had to get back.
“Now Dr. Kirshner has a paper with a good many Tuareg words on it. I remember hearing him tell about it several days ago. If we can find that, everything will probably be all right. We’ll take it with us to their village and ask them in their own language to help us. How does it sound?”
“Very good,” Fekmah returned. “But do you think they will?”
“Won’t do any harm to find out,” Bob said, going in the tent.
Dr. Kirshner’s large satchel was on a box, and the young man at once took it down and searched its contents for the paper of Tuareg words. His nerves were on edge with a terrible fear that perhaps it would not be there.
Papers and books and pamphlets were all taken out and hastily read. Scarcely would the youth glance at one sheet when he would pick up another. Under ordinary circumstances, Dr. Kirshner would not have permitted anyone to go through his belongings, but now it was a case of necessity.
Suddenly Bob straightened up in great relief. He had at last found the object of his search.
“Here it is,” he said to Fekmah, who was standing beside him. “A translation of about three hundred Tuareg words. Now I guess we’ll fool those Arab crooks.”
Bob had had nothing to eat that morning, and he was very hungry. He lost no time in preparing a satisfying breakfast. When he had finished eating, he turned to Fekmah.
“Now,” he said, “I’m going to that Tuareg village and ask for aid in rescuing Dad and the others. You had better stay here with the camels and supplies, hadn’t you? It would probably mean tragedy for us if anything should happen to them.”