At last the shouts seemed to come a little nearer, and before long the fierce, angry cries were heard close at hand.
“They are surrounding the prison,” said Guy, huskily.
He was right. A howling mob was on all sides of them now, and it was quite clear that they were beginning to attack the walls of the courtyard, for suddenly half a dozen shots were fired as though the guards were resisting the invaders.
It was a period of terrible suspense. The shouts increased, the firing grew heavier, powder-smoke drifted into the prison; but just when they expected to see their dungeon door torn open by a mad swarm of fanatics the uproar suddenly ceased.
A full minute of silence followed, and then on the night air rose a howl of triumph, so savage, so vindictive, that Guy and Melton shivered from head to foot. For some reason the attack had been suddenly abandoned. What that reason was they could only surmise.
The silence continued. The invaders had dispersed. Sleep was impossible, and they passed the time in conversation until a streak of light, flickering through the opening, showed that morning had come.
Food and drink were brought in. The prisoners ate sparingly. The shadow of a great calamity was overhanging.
“I am just as sure,” said Melton, “that something will shortly happen, as I am that you and I are in Rao Khan’s slave prison at Harar.”
“Listen,” answered Guy.
Footsteps approached. The door creaked and opened, and a man entered. With a cry of wonder Guy and Melton sprang to their feet. The newcomer was bronzed and burnt, he had light hair, a mustache and a soft blond beard, but he wore trousers and a tunic of white linen.