The question amused me.
“No, sheik; they will be true to Van Dorn, who has been true to them. They do not know the story you have just told me, and have no grievance against the man.”
“But when they learn the truth will they deliver him up?” he persisted.
“I think not. My uncle would take an American’s word in preference to that of an Arab.”
“I must fight,” said Abdul Hashim, as if to himself. “But not openly. I must meet treachery with treachery. Very good.”
He stopped and looked at us with composure, as if he had settled all difficulties in his own mind and outlined a plan of action.
“I shall yet secure my treasure and my revenge,” he continued, and then bowed low to us and left the room. The bow was a mockery, and we felt less assurance in the sheik’s absence than when we faced him.
But here we were, prisoners of an unscrupulous and lawless Arab, and realizing that any present attempt to escape would be useless, we sat down upon the palm branches to await the next act in the drama.
CHAPTER XIII.
PRISONERS.
The situation was not long in developing. A tall, dirty Arab came in with some coarse food, which we ate because it was now the middle of the afternoon and our long ride had made us hungry.