"Malish—I have forgotten. It is so long ago."
Royson rose to his feet and stretched himself. He wondered what Alfieri was disinterring at Suleiman's Well if the legion of Aelius Gallus had followed the old-world route described by the Arab. Perhaps it was all a mad dream, and this latest development but an added trick of fantasy. Abdur Kad'r, looking up at him, chuckled softly.
"Effendi," he cried, "if you are as strong as you look, you must be of the breed of that Frankish king whom our great Soldan, Yussuf Ibn Ayub, fought in Syria eight hundred years ago. Bismillah! I have seen many a proper man, but none with height and bone like you."
Now, Dick knew that Abdur Kad'r was speaking of Richard the First and Saladin, and it did seem a strange thing that the founder of his race should be named at that moment. He laughed constrainedly.
"You have guessed truly, my friend," he said. "I am indeed a descendant of that famous fighter. Alas, the days have long passed since men met in fair contest with lance and sword. If I were fool enough to seek distinction today in the battle-field I might be slain by any monkey of a man who could aim a rifle."
"We die as God wills," was the Arab's pious rejoinder, "yet I have been in more than one fight in which a Frank of your size could have won a name for himself. But I am growing old. My hot days are ended, and you giaours are erecting boundary pillars on the desert. The free people are dying. We are scattered and divided. Soon there will not be a genuine Arab left. May the wrath of Allah fall on all unbelievers!"
Then did Royson laugh again, with a heartiness that drove that passion of retrospect from Abdur Kad'r's dark features.
"Whatever happens, let not you and me quarrel," he cried. "We have enough on hand that we should keep our heads cool. And who can tell what this very day may bring forth? Things may happen ere we rejoin our caravan, Abdur Kad'r."
The sheikh, bowed his head in confusion. It must have been the heat, he muttered, that caused his tongue to utter such folly. And, indeed, the excuse might serve, for the hot hours dragged most wearily, and the sun circled ever towards the hills, yet there came no sign of Hussain.
Royson, was divided between his promise to Irene not to incur any avoidable risk and his natural wish to obtain the information so eagerly awaited in the camp. Though he meant to begin the return journey at sunset, here was five o'clock, and he no wiser than yesterday at the same hour. At last, inaction grew irksome. He helped Abdur Kad'r to saddle the camels, and they mounted, with intent to climb the northerly ridge, and thus survey the road which Hussain must pursue if he managed to get away from Italian surveillance before nightfall.