“How did it happen?” I asked myself, greatly bewildered; and then I remembered how Joe’s trick at wrestling had tumbled the first man into the well; how Joe had seized the rifle and shot Abdul Hashim; how Joe had vanquished the last Arab by a pistol shot as Archie and I struggled with him for dear life.
Joe? Yes; Joe had done all this. The quiet, slender lad I had once befriended through pity had now saved us all three from an awful fate, and by his extraordinary pluck and quick wit had proved himself a hero indeed.
Joe sat before me in an inert heap, breathing fast after his amazing efforts. Silently I reached out and grasped both his hands in mine, pressing them with gratitude too deep for words. Archie awoke from his stupefied abstraction and shook our deliverer’s hands warmly in his big paws. But he too forbore to speak. Words are poor things, and—Joe understood, I’m sure.
Finally we grew calm enough to resume conversation and to inquire what it was best we should do next. I was for taking the three best camels and pushing on toward Koser, hoping to find the pass through the mountains and regain the ship. My friends thought the plan as safe and practical as any. So I arose, rather unsteadily, for my nerves were still on edge, and searched the saddle-bags for food, having had no breakfast. I found plenty of dates, banyans and dried goat’s flesh, and we each took a portion of these and began to eat.
Presently Archie crawled to the edge of the well and leaning over looked in. I saw his face blanch and a look of horror come to his eyes, but neither Joe nor I asked a single question as our comrade hastily drew back and came to our side. Nor have I questioned him since. Whatever the Yankee boy saw in that gloomy pit he has never cared to speak of.
We were about to mount our animals, having recovered our rifles and some of our other weapons, when the quick tread of approaching camels reached our ears. Unnerved by our recent experience, our first impulse was to grasp our rifles and leap behind a sheltering rock, from which refuge we might determine whether friends or foes were drawing near.
CHAPTER XV.
VAN DORN TURNS TRAITOR.
The tread of the camels sounded ahead of us from up the trail, and soon we were reassured by a loud voice speaking in hearty American fashion. Shortly after there moved into our line of vision Uncle Naboth and Ned Britton, riding side by side, while after them came Bryonia and the sailors from the Seagull.
With a shout of joy, we leaped from our concealment, and my uncle fairly tumbled off his tall camel in his eagerness to embrace me. It was indeed a joyful reunion, and for a while no questions were asked on either side, the satisfaction of knowing we were all safe and reunited being enough for us.
But soon the silent form of Abdul Hashim stretched upon the ground attracted attention, and Uncle Naboth leaned over it and asked in a hushed voice: