"England? Is it possible? Remember, friends, the words of the wise monk André," exclaimed the man, turning to his companions.
"They speak somewhat according to our tongue," said another, who had walked across to the spot where the muskets had been placed. "But take heed; they have the weapons of the accursed infidels."
"They are indeed the arms of the Arabs who held us captive, but we have taken them from them in fair fight," replied Reeves.
"Then you have journeyed far and are wearied?"
"We are," assented the correspondent.
"Rest, then, till dawn," replied the man with the lantern. "Your weapons we must needs retain till we find you to be honest men. Rest in peace and fear nothing. Tomorrow we must take you to Sir Jehan de Valx, our overlord of Croixilia."
The leader of the party said a few words in an undertone to one of his men. The latter raised his spear in salute, and bade the three Englishmen follow him.
Less than fifty yards from the edge of the oasis were half a dozen tents, made, not of camel cloth, as are those of the Arabs, but of a coarse white linen fabric, and ranged in a circle. In the centre a fire glimmered darkly, for the embers only remained.
"Walter!" shouted the guide, and presently a man, clad like the others, except that a leathern jerkin took the place of the hauberk, appeared from one of the tents.
"Food and drink for these strangers, Walter," said the guide authoritatively. "Then see well to their comfort till the morning. I salute you—farewell!" and, raising his spear with a respectful gesture, he turned and vanished between the palm trunks.