As the approaching party came more distinctly into view, apprehension vanished, for the laden camels showed that it was an ordinary trading caravan of small size.
The caravan halted and all looked curiously at the captain’s party. Phalos and the captain rode toward them with shouted salutations and signs of friendliness, which were returned in the same spirit.
Phalos interrogated the leader as to whether he had seen any man who resembled Mr. Sturdy, describing him as a tall man with black hair.
No, the leader had seen no such man. He had, however, seen a tall man with white hair or nearly white. He had seen him with a party digging near a mound, some thirty miles further on.
Had he talked with him?
No, there was something about the man’s eyes that had made him feel queer. But he had talked with some of the workmen. They had told him that they were going to quit, that their employer had told them he would soon have no more money to pay them. Besides, they thought that the man had been marked by Allah. They had grown afraid. So they were going away.
This was the sum of the information they got from the leader of the caravan, and they returned and reported to the rest of the party, while the traders moved on.
It was not very definite, certainly not conclusive, but it brought to all of them an immense accession of hope. Don was elated beyond measure.
“Of course, father’s hair was black when I saw him last!” he exclaimed. “But what he has been through may have changed it.”
“The news is certainly encouraging,” said the captain. “Though don’t build too much upon it, Don.”