The older Arab led: behind him rode Royson; Hussain brought up the rear. In this fashion they climbed the slight rise of the wide valley which sheltered the expedition. They had gone some three hundred yards, and the leader was scanning the horizon for a gap through which the track passed, when they were all amazed to hear Miss Fenshawe's clear voice.

"I thought you were never coming, Mr. Royson," she said. "I was on the point of going back to my tent, but I caught the grumbling of your camels. Then I knew that you had really made a start."

After the first gasp of wonder and delight, Dick slipped to the ground. He narrowly avoided a spiteful bite from his unwilling conveyance, but he handed the single rein to Abdur Kad'r, and hastened towards a rock in whose shadow stood Irene, garbed and cloaked so that she was scarcely discernible.

"I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you, Miss Fenshawe," he cried, "yet, in the same breath, I must protest against your wandering so far from the camp. Are you alone?"

"You may be sure of that. Otherwise I should not be here." She laughed cheerfully, for the escapade had in it a spice of adventure, and she wished to give it a lighter turn.

"Then you have news for me?"

"No. You heard all that passed to-day. Since then, my grandfather has refused to discuss the affair. As a result, Mrs. Haxton and the Baron were snappy during dinner. In fact, they were unendurable, and I was delighted when they left us."

"It is a hateful thing to have to lecture you," he said, coming nearer, and trying to peer into her face, "but you know you ought not to take this risk. It is too venturesome. I think that this section of the desert is fairly clear of any real danger, so far as prowling Bedouins are concerned, but there are other unpleasant neighbors—in the shape of snakes and scorpions—"

"I am wearing riding boots," she interrupted. "And I shall soon relieve your anxiety by returning to my hammock. Pray don't trouble about me, Mr. Royson. I have waylaid you with a purpose. It is too late now, I suppose, to dissuade you from carrying out a useless and absurd journey, but I do ask you not to commit the further folly of sacrificing your own life, and, perhaps, the lives of others, in the mistaken belief that you are serving Mr. Fenshawe's interests."

Though she strove to speak in a tone of conventional friendliness, her voice shook a little. Dick was profoundly moved. It seemed to him suddenly that the burnous he wore exercised a stifling effect on him. He threw it off, and it fell unheeded to the loose stones at his feet. The girl laughed again, somewhat tremulously.

"What of those nasty creatures against which you warned me a moment ago?" she exclaimed. "Or is it that your disguise has become unbearable? You make an astonishingly tall Arab, Mr. Royson. I should have picked you out anywhere."

That wayward heart of Dick's drove a hot flood of color to his face, but he still held mastery over his tongue.

"Why do you think I am likely to run into danger?" he asked. For an instant his calmness misled her. She had grown accustomed to his habit of self-restraint, and looked for nothing else.

"Because you would dare anything rather than fail," she said. "You would ride alone into the midst of a thousand enemies if you thought that thereby you could attain your ends. And I want to assure you that I—that Mr. Fenshawe—would object most strenuously to your incurring any real peril for the sake of the worthless people who have brought us to Africa on a wild-goose chase. By all means secure for us any possible information that can be obtained through the Arabs, but I came here because—because I shall feel happier if you promise me—that—you will avoid this man, Alfieri, and his friends. Did you see the look on Baron von Kerber's face to-day? I never before realized what the hunger for gold meant. He would kill any one who barred his path. I could read his very soul. And—and—it frightened me. So you must come back safely, Mr. Royson, for I have confidence in you and Captain Stump, but I am terrified of what may happen if von Kerber tells the others the story of the treasure, and promises them a large share in it, should it be found."

"I had not thought of that," said Dick simply. Indeed, his mind was not at all occupied just then with von Kerber's scheming.

"So I imagined. And that is why I stole out of my tent and waited here. I was sure you would agree with me that the really important thing is our speedy return to the yacht. It is the only possible course. My grandfather never intended to gain his ends by armed force, and von Kerber is assuredly dreaming of that at this moment."

"I begin to see your point of view," said he, forcing himself to answer her words, though his brain was weaving other phrases. "Even if I discover that Alfieri is digging up those precious camel-loads, it will be best for all parties that his success should be minimized."

"Yes, yes," she cried eagerly. "That is my meaning. I do not care what happens so long as we all reach Pajura. Then let the Baron and Mrs. Haxton do as they choose. Even if they want to borrow our money and our goods and chattels for the purpose of a second expedition I shall be the first to support the idea."

"You are not longing, then, for a sight of the Sheban wealth?"

"No. I hate the very thought of it. It is—bloodstained. Oh, Mr. Royson, everything now depends on you. Please contrive matters so that we shall travel to the coast without delay. That is all. You understand me, I think. It only remains for me to wish you good-by and God-speed."

She moved a little apart, but Dick's left hand caught her by the shoulder.

"No, Irene, it is not all," he whispered. "I am going now, and I shall return to you, God willing, within thirty-six hours, and, before I go, I want to kiss you."

He could feel the quiver that shook her slender form at the unexpectedness of it. She uttered a startled cry, and wondered if she had heard aright, but she yielded to the clasp of an encircling arm. Perhaps she lifted her face in sheer amazement; be that as it may, Dick kissed her, not once, but many times.

"May Heaven guard and keep you, sweetheart," he said brokenly. "You know that I love you. You have known it many a day, but I forced myself to be silent because I was proud. Now my pride has given way to the joy of whispering that I love you. To-morrow, that stubborn pride of mine may rebuke me, and say that I had no right to take you to my heart to- night, but to-night my love laughs at all that idle pretense of money erecting a barrier between you and me. You are dearer to me than life, and why should I not tell you so? I wanted to meet you to-night, Irene. I made plaint to the stars when I did not see you at parting. Now that you are here, I find myself at the gates of Paradise. Yet you must leave me now, dear one. Let me carry the fragrance of your kiss on my lips until the dawn. Then, in the chill of morning, when cold reason chides me, I shall refuse to listen to her, for I shall remember that Irene kissed me."

The girl clung to him during a blissful instant.

"Oh!" she sighed, and "Oh!" again as though her heart was throbbing its life out. Then she murmured:

"You have not even asked me if I loved you, King Dick!"

With that she glanced up at him, and placed both hands on his shoulders.

"No," he said. "I only asked you to kiss me. I shall ask for your love when I may come without reproach and ask you to be my wife."

"Dick," she said, with adorable shyness, "it is not yet to-morrow."

He strained her to his breast. Their lips met again rapturously.

"Oh, my sweet," he said, "has ever man received more angelic answer to a question that filled his heart with longing throughout many days?"

"Yet you are leaving me, and of your own accord."

"Irene—you, too, are proud. Would you have me return now?"

"No. I know now that fate has chosen you to decide our fortunes. Go, Dick, but come back to me in safety, or my poor little heart will break."

Then, as though afraid of her own weakness, she drew herself from his arms and hurried away towards the camp. He stood motionless, listening to her footsteps, and his soul sang blithe canticles the while. At last, when assured that she was within her tent, he picked up the discarded burnous, strode to the waiting camels, and quickly the desert enfolded him and his dreams in its great silence.

And Dick thanked the desert for its kindliness, which had made possible that which was beyond credence. In London, how could a poverty-stricken outcast dare to raise his eyes to the patrician heiress? He remembered that first glance of hers, and the tactful way in which she had discriminated between the man who might be glad of a sovereign for the service he had rendered, and him who would value a woman's thanks far beyond gold. And then, with what quiet dignity she had ignored his fierce repudiation of von Kerber's offer of recompense. In that bitter hour how might he foresee the turn of fortune's wheel which in two short months would bring that dainty girl to his lover's embrace! How delightful it was to hear his nickname from her lips! King Dick! Well, such bold wooing ran in the blood, and it would go hard with any man, whether Frank or Saracen, who barred the way between him and his chosen lady. What if her grandfather were fifty times a millionaire! What had millions to do with love? Precious little, quoth Richard, if all he had read of rich men's lives were even partly true. He had a twinge or two when he reflected that, at present, he occupied the position of second mate on Fenshawe's yacht. He pictured himself asking the old gentleman for Irene's hand in marriage, and being told that he was several sorts of a lunatic. But the memory of Irene's kisses rendered her grandfather's anticipated wrath quite bearable, and Dick laughed aloud at the joy and folly of it all, until Sheikh Abdur Kad'r was moved to say sharply:

"At night, in the desert, Effendi, the ears carry farther than the eyes, so it behooves us to make no more noise with our tongues than our camels make with their feet."

They journeyed slowly until a wondrous amber light first flooded the eastern horizon and then tinted the opposite hills with pink coral. Soon, rainbow shades of blue and green began to blend with the pink, and the undulating plateau they were traversing revealed with startling suddenness its scattered rocks and patches of loose stones. The camels were urged into a lurching trot, and thirty miles were covered in less time than it had taken to travel eight during the dark hours.

Beyond a few gazelles, a pair of marabout storks, and a troup of jackals, they saw no living creature. But they took every precaution against surprise. If others were on the march they meant to discover the fact before they were themselves seen. So, when the ground was practicable, they crossed the sky-line at top speed, hastened through the intervening valley, and crept in Indian file to the next crest.

The Bisharin camels had long ceased to utter their unavailing growls. Such reasoning powers as they possessed told them that they must make the best of a bad business, as the lords of creation on their backs meant to reach the allotted destination without reference to the outraged feelings of three ill-used animals who had been deprived of a night's rest. Now, a camel has been taught, by long experience, that the legitimate end of a march is supplied only by something in the shape of an oasis, no matter how slight may be its store of prickly bushes and wiry grass. Therefore, these Bisharin brethren must have felt something akin to surprise when they were tethered and fed in a rock-strewn wady which offered neither food nor water. Animals and men had to depend on the supplies they had carried thither. Shelter, of course, there was none, and at nine o'clock the sun was already high in the heavens.

One unhappy beast made a tremendous row when Hussain mounted him again after a brief respite, and bade him be moving. Nevertheless, protest was useless, and only led to torture. Finally, squealing and weeping, the camel moved off, while his erstwhile sympathizers regarded him blandly and unmoved, seeing that they were not disturbed, but permitted to munch in peace the remains of a meal. Hussain was soon out of sight. According to Abdur Kad'r's calculations, the Italian camp was in the center of the next important valley. At the utmost, it was three miles distant, and Hussain's presence early in the forenoon would be more readily accounted for if he put in an appearance on a camel that was obviously leg-weary.

Royson had given the man explicit instructions. If questioned, he was to state the actual facts—that an Englishman and himself, with one other Arab, had made a forced march from the nearest oasis, that his exhausted companions were resting at no great distance, and that he purposed returning to them with a replenished water-bag and some food for their camels. But, amid the bustle of a large encampment, it was more than likely that his arrival would pass unnoticed save by his brother Arabs. In that event, he could satisfy their curiosity without going into details, ascertain whether or not Abdullah the Spear-thrower was among them, and, by keeping his eyes and ears open, learn a good deal as to the progress effected by Alfieri in the work of exploration.

By hook or by crook, he must endeavor to return before sundown—if accompanied by Abdullah, so much the better. Then, having learnt his news, they could decide on the next step to be taken. Perhaps, if Abdullah came, they would be able to rejoin the expedition without further trouble.

After Hussain's departure, Royson and Abdur Kad'r disposed themselves to rest. Utilizing camel cloths as tentes d'abri, they snatched a couple of hours of uneasy sleep; but the heat and insects drove even the seasoned sheikh to rebellion, and by midday both men preferred the hot air and sunshine to the sweltering shade of the stuffy cloths.

Irene was right when she said that Dick had made a great advance with his Arabic. He was master of many words of every-day use, and had also learnt a number of connected phrases. Abdur Kad'r knew some French. These joint attainments enabled them to carry on a conversation.

The Arab, with the curiosity of all men who do not read books, sought information as to life in big cities, and Royson amused himself by depicting the marvels of London. A limited vocabulary, no less than the dense ignorance of his guide on such topics as railways, electricity, paved streets, cabs, and other elements of existence in towns, rendered the descriptions vague. Suddenly, the sheikh broke in on Dick's labored recital with a query that gave the conversation an extraordinary turn.

"If you have so many remarkable things in your own land, Effendi, what do you seek here?" he asked, waving a lean hand in comprehensive sweep. "This is no place for town-bred men like the Hakim Effendi, nor for two such women as those who travel with us. You have ridden three hundred kilometers across the desert, and for what? To find five hills, says the Hakim. May Allah be praised that rich men should wish to spend so much money for so foolish a reason!"

"But the Hakim Effendi believes that there is an oasis marked by five hills somewhere in this district, and, were he to find it, we would dig, and perhaps discover some ancient articles buried there, articles of small value to the world generally, but highly prized by those who understand their history."

"I know this desert as you know those streets you have been telling me of," said Abdur Kad'r, "and there is no oasis marked by five hills. You have seen every camping-ground between here and Pajura. There is but one other track, an old caravan road from the sea, which crosses our present line a few kilometers to the south. We passed it last night in the dark. It has only four wells. The nearest one is called the Well of Moses, the next, the Well of the Elephant—"

"Why should you Arabs have a well of Moses?" asked Dick, smiling. "It is not thought that Moses ever wandered in this locality, is it?"

"We respect Moses and all the prophets," said Abdur Kad'r seriously. He smoked in silence for a minute, seemingly searching his memory for something that had escaped it.

"Is it true," he demanded doubtingly, "that once upon a time many of the hills gave forth fire and smoke as from a furnace?"

"Quite true. Volcanoes we call them. All these mountains are volcanic in their origin."

"Then a moulvie whom I met once did not lie to me. He said that seven little mounds which stand near that well had been known to vomit ashes and flame: thus, they came to be called the Seven-branched Candlestick of Moses. I suppose the well took the prophet's name in that way. Who knows?"

Royson had learnt of late how to school his face. Long practise under the witchery of Irene's eyes and Mrs. Haxton's ceaseless scrutiny enabled him now to conceal the lightning flash of inspiration that fired his intelligence. An old caravan road from the sea, a road that led to the Nile, with its fourth stopping-place made notable by seven tiny cones of an extinct volcano—surely that had the ring of actuality about it! Von Kerber had confessed to altering figures and distances in the papyrus—was this an instance?—were the "hills" they sought not five but seven in number? What an amazing thing it would be if this gaunt old sheikh held the clue to the burial-place of the treasure! It must have been on the tip of his tongue ever since they met him, yet the knowledge was withheld, solely on account of von Kerber's secretive methods. Had he told Abdur Kad'r that he was searching for an oasis sheltered by seven hills it was almost quite certain that the Well of Moses would at least have been mentioned as the only locality offering a remote resemblance to that which he sought. Somehow, Dick felt that he had stumbled on to the truth. Though tingling with excitement, he managed to control his voice.

"You say it is four marches from here to the sea?" he asked.

"Five, Effendi. There are four wells, but each is thirty or thirty-five kilometers from the other. At one time, I have been told, many kafilas came that way, but the trade was killed by goods being carried in ships to other points, while it is recorded among my people that the curse of Allah fell on the land, and blighted it, and the trees died, and the streams dried up, until it became as you now see it."

Dick lit a fresh, cigarette, and blew a great cloud of smoke before his eyes, lest the observant Arab should read the thoughts that made them glisten.

"Let us suppose," he said slowly, "that Fenshawe Effendi decided to make for the sea by that shorter road, there would be no difficulty in doing it?"

"Difficulty !" re-echoed the sheikh, "it might cost us many lives. A few men, leading spare camels with water-bags, might get through in safety, but it would be madness to attempt it with a big caravan. By the Prophet's beard, I did not like the prospect of this present march, though I knew there was water and food in plenty at Suleiman's Well. What, then, would happen if we found every well on the eastern road dry as a lime-kiln?"

"Yet you have been that way, you say?"

"Once, when I was young. But we were only a few Arabs, with a long string of camels."

"Did you find water?"

"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.

They proceeded warily. On gaining the opposing height they found that a broad plateau, flanked by a steep hill on the seaward side, barred any distant view, but Abdur Kad'r felt assured that the crest of this next hill would give them command of the whole range of broken country for many miles ahead. With this objective, they urged the camels into a trot. When the shoulder of the rising ground became almost impassable for four-footed animals, and awkward beasts at that, they dismounted, tied the camels to heavy stones, and climbed the remainder of the way on foot.

They looked across a narrow valley into a wide and shallow depression, where a clump of palm trees and dense patches of sayall bushes instantly revealed the whereabouts of the oasis. It was easy to see the regular lines of newly-turned rubble and sand where trenches had been cut by the explorers. But the place was deserted. Not a man or horse, camel or tent, stood on the spot where the mirage had revealed a multitude some twenty-six hours earlier.

Royson was so perplexed by the discovery that his gaze did not wander from the abandoned camp. Abdur Kad'r, quicker than he to read the tokens of the desert, pointed to a haze of dust that hung in the still air far to the north.

"The Italians have gone, Effendi," he said. "Perhaps they, too, were looking for an oasis with five hills. Behold, they have found one by a fool's counting, for this is the fifth hill within two kilometers of Suleiman's Well. The ways of Allah are wonderful. Can it be that they have discovered that which you seek?"

A sharp pang of disappointment shot through Royson's breast. He was about to tell Abdur Kad'r that they must now regain their camels and hasten to the oasis while there was sufficient light to examine the excavations, when the sheikh suddenly pulled him down, for Dick had stood upright on a boulder to obtain an uninterrupted field of vision.

"Look!" he growled. "Four of them! And, by the Holy Kaaba, they mean mischief!"

Royson's eyes were good, clearer, in all probability, than the Arab's, but they were not trained to detect moving objects with such minute precision. Nevertheless, in a few seconds he made out the hoods of four men who were peering over the crest which separated the small valley from the larger one. They disappeared, and, while Royson and Abdur Kad'r were speculating on the motive that inspired this espionage, the hoods came in sight again, but this time they had the regular swing that betokened camel-riders. The four halted on the sky-line, and seemingly exchanged signals with others in the fear. Then they resumed their advance. They were fully armed; they carried their guns across the saddle-bow, and Dick saw that their cloaks were rather differently fashioned to those which he had taken note of hitherto.

"Hadendowas!" murmured Abdur Kad'r. "They are good fighters, Effendi, but born thieves. And how many ride behind? Not for twenty years have I met Hadendowas on this track."

The Arab's keen eyes did not cease to glare fixedly beyond the ridge. Soon he whispered again:

"They may not have seen us, Effendi, but we must be ready for them. Go you, and lead our camels into the hollow there," and he thrust his chin towards the seaward base of the hill. "I shall soon know if they are playing fox with us. Our camels are of the Bisharin breed, while theirs are Persian, so we can always outstrip them if it comes to a race. You understand, Effendi; they come from Suleiman's Well. Perchance evil hath befallen Hussain."

Abhur Kad'r's advice was so obviously reasonable that Dick obeyed it, though unwillingly. He took the camels to the place indicated by his companion, and had no difficulty in finding a cleft in which they were quite hidden from the ken of any who followed the main track.

Soon he heard the sheikh hurrying after him.

"Had we awaited Hussain another half hour we should have been dead or captured by this time, Effendi," was his bewildering news. "A white man and nearly seventy Hadendowas, all armed, and leading pack camels, follow close behind the scouts. With them are Hussain and another, but their arms are bound, and they are roped to their beasts. The Giaour— may he be withered—rides my Bisharin camel."

Then Royson knew by intuition what had happened. Alfieri had failed in his quest. The Italian commander of the troops, refusing to sanction useless labor any longer, had marched north with his men. Alfieri, still clinging desperately to a chimera, had decided to remain and scour the desert until his stores gave out. And, at this crucial moment in his enterprise, came Hussain, the unconscious emissary of his rivals. The fact that the Arab was a prisoner spoke volumes. He had tried to communicate with Abdullah, and the watchful Italian had guessed his true mission. The man might have been tortured until he confessed the whereabouts not only of Royson himself and Abdur Kad'r but of the whole expedition. There was but one thing to do, and that speedily.

"Up!" he shouted, dragging the camels forth to an open space. "You ride in front and set the pace."

"What would you do, Effendi?" cried the sheikh in alarm. "They will see us ere we have gone five hundred meters. Let us wait for the night."

"Up, I tell you," roared Royson, catching the Arab's shoulder in a steel grip. "In another ten minutes they will know we have fled, and they will hurry south at top speed. What chance have we of passing them in this country at night? Our sole hope is to head them. No more words, but ride. Believe me, Abdur Kad'r, it is life or death for you, and it matters little to me whether you die here, or in the next valley, or not at all."

Then the Arab knew that he had met his master. He climbed to the saddle, said words not in the Koran, and urged his camel into a frenzied run. Royson, who could never have persuaded his own long- legged steed to adopt such a pace, found it easy enough to induce the beast to follow his brother.

In this fashion, riding like madmen, they traversed the plateau and had almost begun the descent into the wady where they had spent the day, when a distant yell reached them. There was no need to look back, even if such a hazardous proceeding were warranted by their break-neck gait. They were discovered, but they were in front, and that counts for a good deal in a race. They tore down the hill, lumbered across the dried-up bed of a long-vanished torrent, and pressed up the further side. As they neared the ridge, four rifle shots rang out, and Dick saw three little spurts of dust and stones kick up in front on the right, while a white spatter suddenly shone on a dark rock to the left.

"Faster!" he roared to Abdur Kad'r. "They cannot both ride and fire. In the next wady we shall be safe. Bend to it, my friend. Your reward will be great, and measured only by your haste in bringing me back to our camp."



CHAPTER XVI

A FLIGHT—AND A FIGHT

Mrs. Haxton was no laggard in her hammock on the day after Royson's departure from the camp, but, early riser though she was, Irene was up and dressed when the older woman came to her tent and asked if she might have a word with her. In fact, Irene had not undressed at all the previous night. When she tore herself from Dick's arms, she hurried back to the oasis, it is true, but only to draw a chair out into the open, and sit there under the stars, dreaming the dreams of a girl to whom the heaven of love has just thrown wide its portals.

Even the midnight chill did not drive her to bed. She closed the flap of her tent, lit a lamp, and tried to read, but the letters danced before her eyes. Instead of the scenes portrayed by the book, she saw three ghostly camels shuffling through stones and sand in the darkness, and, on one of them, the tall figure of the man whose parting words had filled her soul with honey sweetness. At last, weary with anxiety on his behalf, she threw herself, fully dressed, on her low-hung hammock, this being Mr. Fenshawe's clever device to protect European skins from the attacks of the insects that swarm in the desert wherever there is any sign of dampness. She slept a few fitful hours, and her first waking thought was a prayer for Dick's well-being.

Then came Mrs. Haxton, and the girl received her with unaffected friendliness, being in the mood that demanded the sympathy she was prepared to offer to all who suffered. Her visitor was observant. Her woman's eyes noted that Irene was still attired in a muslin dinner dress, whereas she invariably wore a riding costume of brown holland or Assam silk in the morning.

"My dear Irene," she said, "I hope you will not allow that stupid dispute of yesterday to worry you into sleepless nights."

"But I have slept—quite a long time," was the girl's smiling disclaimer.

"Well, now—let us consider. Mr. Royson left the camp about ten o'clock. A young lady who shall be nameless said good-bye to him half an hour later—"

"You saw me?" Irene flushed scarlet.

"No, indeed. I was too busy with my own sad affairs to act the part of a female Paul Pry, even involuntarily. But I did see you go to your tent, and I caught a glimpse of you at midnight when you were lighting your lamp. It is not yet six, so I am guessing things."

"If I were to return the compliment—"

"You would say that I, too, was not a heavy sleeper. Well, I make no secret of a perturbed night. That is why I am here now. I want your help, Irene. Strange as it may seem, I appeal to you because I know you have always been opposed to my aims. Perhaps I am to blame for that. Had I forced Baron von Kerber to take you and Mr. Fenshawe fully into his confidence, events might have shaped themselves quite differently. But it is too late to talk of what might have been. You are more concerned with the future than with the past. Last night, while you were looking into the wonderland of the years to come, I was reviewing lost opportunities. Therefore, I come to you this morning somewhat chastened in spirit. May I talk without reserve?"

"Please, do," cried Irene, drawing her chair closer. In the sharp clarity of sunrise she saw that Mrs. Haxton's beautiful face was drawn and haggard. She was beginning to probe unsuspected depths in this woman's temperament. She understood something of the intense disappointment which the failure of the expedition must evoke in one to whom wealth and all that it yields constituted the breath of life. And then, she was in love, which predisposes its votaries towards charity.

Mrs. Haxton sighed. A consummate actress, for once her art was supplemented by real feeling.

"Ah," she murmured, her eyes filling with tears, "I find your pity hard to bear."

"Surely you are not going to cry just because I am sorry for you," cried the girl. "There now. Don't give way. Let me call one of the men. He will bring us some tea, and we can have a nice long chat before breakfast."

"Yes, do that. We both need it. My grief is rather selfish, Irene. I know your secret, dear girl, and I wish you every happiness, though the phrase carries with it the bitter self-communion that, for my own part, I have forfeited most things that make life happy. Well, that is not what I want to say. The storm has passed. Summon your slave, and bid the kettle boil."

Surprised and touched by the emotion displayed by her companion, Irene hastened to procure the beverage which Providence evidently intended for the consolation of afflicted womankind. The camp was already astir, and the crew of the Aphrodite were preparing their morning meal, so two cups of hot tea were quickly available.

When Mrs. Haxton spoke again, the tears had gone, and her voice resumed its pleasantly modulated tone.

"May I begin by assuming that you intend to marry Mr. Royson?" she asked.

Irene laughed softly, and her glance wandered beyond the busy camp to the distant hills.

"I have known more unlikely events to happen," she said.

"I thought so. I recognized the symptoms. Well, I want to make a sort of bargain with you. If you help me, I can help you, and, to show that I can give effect to my words, I shall tell you exactly what form my help will take before I state the nature of the assistance I ask from you, so that you may be at perfect liberty to give or withhold it as you choose."

"This is a rather one-sided contract, is it not?" "No. I fancy it will be equitable. I have not lived in close intimacy with you during so many weeks without arriving at a fair estimate of your character. You are one of the fortunate people, Irene, who find it more blessed to give than to receive. At any rate I am satisfied to settle matters that way. And to come to the point, while you may experience grave difficulty in obtaining your grandfather's consent to your marriage with a penniless young gentleman of striking physique but no profession—Mr. Royson being even a second mate on sufferance, so to speak—the aspect of your affairs changes materially when your suitor becomes Sir Richard Royson, Baronet, with a fine estate and a rent-roll of five thousand pounds a year."

"How can you possibly know that?" gasped Irene, spilling half her tea in sheer excitement.

"It is more than possible—It is true. I happen to be aware of the facts. That thrice fortunate young man came into our lives at a moment when, by the merest chance, I was able to acquire some knowledge of his family history. His uncle, the twenty-sixth baronet, I believe, sustained an accident in childhood which unhappily made him a cripple and a hunchback. He grew up a misanthrope. He hated his only brother because he was tall and strong as befitted one of the race, and his hatred became a mania when Captain Henry Royson married a young lady on whom the dwarf baronet had set his mind. There never was the least reason to believe that she would have wed Sir Richard, but that did not prevent him from pursuing her with a spite and vindictiveness that earned him very bad repute in Westmoreland. His brother and nephew were, however, his heirs, though the estate was a poor one, but, when minerals were discovered on the property, he persuaded Captain Royson to agree that the entail should be broken, as certain business developments could then be carried out more effectively. This was a reasonable thing in itself, but, unhappily, the younger brother was killed in the hunting-field, and some legal kink in the affair enabled the baronet to reduce the widow and her son to actual poverty. Young Royson made a gallant attempt to support his mother, but she died nearly five years ago. Naturally, there was a mortal feud between him and his uncle. Sir Richard's constant aim has been to crush his nephew. He arranged matters so that the bare title alone would pass to the heir at his death. Yet, on the very day that young Royson stopped your frightened horses in Buckingham Palace Road, the baronet slipped on the oak floor of the picture gallery in Orme Castle—that is the name of their place in the North—and injured his spine. The nearness of death seems to have frightened him into an act of retribution. He made a new will, constituting your Richard his heir, and he died the day before our caravan left Pajura."

A certain cold disdain had crept into Irene's face as she listened. Mrs. Haxton was well aware of the change in the girl's manner, but she did not interrupt the thread of her story, nor seek to alter its significance.

"Mr. Royson knows nothing of these later events that are so vitally important to him?" she asked, when the other woman's quiet narration ceased its even flow.

"No."

"Then how is it—"

"That I am better informed? It is quite simple. Baron von Kerber intercepted and read all letters and telegrams that came for him by camel post."

Irene rose. Anger flamed in her face, and her brown eyes darkened.

"You dare to tell this to me?" she said.

"Exactly. You gave me permission to speak unreservedly. Please sit down. I have not finished yet."

Somehow, despite her indignation, the girl was swayed into compliance.

"You forget that the twenty-sixth Sir Richard was dead, and that it really did not matter one jot to the twenty-seventh whether he learnt the news a few weeks earlier or later. But it mattered everything to us, to Baron von Kerber and myself, I mean. We were determined that this expedition should succeed, and we boggled at no means which promised to achieve our end. We have been beaten, but not through any fault of ours. We felt, not without good reason, that if Mr. Royson were compelled to return home you would be converted from a passive into an active enemy. So we adopted the leave-well-enough-alone policy, and, as one woman speaking to another, I really don't see what you have to grumble about. Blame us as much as you like, you still have the delightful knowledge that the progress of your love affair was unaffected by titles or wealth, and I have left to you the pleasant duty of telling your fiance of his good fortune."

"I am afraid your reasoning is too plausible for my poor wits, Mrs. Haxton," said the girl slowly. "Indeed, I am not sure that I care to listen to you any further."

"But you must, you shall," came the fierce outburst. "Do you think I am lowering myself in your eyes without cause? I have told you the plain truth, careless of the worst interpretation you may choose to place on my motives. Now, in return, I want you to make these things known to Mr. Fenshawe. He will be even more disgusted with Baron von Kerber and my wretched self than he is at present, if that be possible. Hence, he will agree, in all probability, to do what we ask—we wish him to give us sufficient equipment and escort to travel direct to the coast from here—at once—within the hour. When we reach the sea we can cross to Aden in an Arab dhow, and neither Mr. Fenshawe nor you will ever see or hear from us again, save in a business sense. It is not a wildly extravagant demand. None of us can look forward with pleasure to a month's journey in company back to Pajura. If I go to Mr. Fenshawe with the proposal I have made to you, he will suspect some hidden intent. He will believe you, and you can convince him that it is the only satisfactory way out of a disagreeable position."

A full minute elapsed before Irene answered.

"I take it that you are here with Baron von Kerber's consent," she said.

"Yes. We discussed matters from every aspect last night. That is why I am so well posted in your movements. We prefer not to await Mr. Royson's return. Alfieri has defeated us. We have lost caste with you and your grandfather. For Heaven's sake, let us go!"

Again there was a pause. For some reason, Irene's sympathies conquered her again. She had risen, and she approached a little nearer.

"I wish to say," she murmured, "that—I am—sorry for you."

Mrs. Haxton looked up at her. Her face was frozen with misery. She seemed to be incapable of tears just then. She stood up, held herself erect for an instant, and walked out of the tent.

"Thank you," she said, without turning her head, as though she wished to avoid the girl's eyes, "Now go, please. Tell Mr. Fenshawe that we shall be glad to get away while it is possible to march. If your grandfather sanctions our plan, we have all details ready for his approval. There need be no delay. We do not want a great deal in the way of stores, and we give our promise to repay the small sum of money which will be necessary for the voyage to Aden and thence to London."

Irene, conscious of some unknown element in this wholly unexpected outcome of the previous evening's discord, hurried off to arouse her grandfather. At that hour the kafila was usually beginning the day's march, but Mr. Fenshawe, like the others, had remained up late, and he was unwilling to be disturbed until his servant told him that his granddaughter was exceedingly anxious to see him.

As soon as she began to relate Mrs. Haxton's story, she realized that it implied a confession of the attachment existing between Royson and herself. She stammered and flushed when it came to explaining the interest she took in all appertaining to Dick, but the old gentleman listened gravely and without comment.

"What do you think, Irene?" he asked when she had finished.

"I think we should all be happier and freer from restraint if Mrs. Haxton and the Baron left us," she said.

"I agree with you. Mrs. Haxton, as a chaperone, can easily be dispensed with. You say they have a scheme drawn up for my signature—setting forth the number of camels, etc., they need? Bring it to me. We can go through it together, and you and Stump can check the actual splitting up of the caravan. Of course, they know that we have a thirty days' march before us, as compared with their five or six, and we may also be compelled to remain here another day or two. In the matter of funds I shall be generous, at any rate where the woman is concerned. I believe that von Kerber is a scoundrel, that he has led her blindfolded along a path of villainy, and she thinks now that she cannot recede. However, let us see what they want."

He was somewhat surprised to find that their demands were studiously moderate. Their tent equipage, seven days' supplies, a dozen camels, two horses, and the necessary number of men, made up the list. Mr. Fenshawe gave them sufficient silver for current expenses, and a draft payable in Aden for the steamer and hotel charges, while he sent Mrs. Haxton a note offering her five hundred pounds when she arrived in London, and promising further assistance in the future if she shook herself free of von Kerber.

Irene, who was acquainted with her grandfather's liberal intent, watched Mrs. Haxton closely while she read that kindly message. Her pallid face was unmoved. Its statuesque rigor gave no hint of the thoughts that raged behind the mask.

"Tell Mr. Fenshawe that he has acted exactly as I expected," was her listless reply, and, within five minutes, the small cavalcade started. Mrs. Haxton elected to ride a Somali pony. She mounted unaided, forced the rather unruly animal to canter to the head of the caravan, and thus deliberately hid herself from further scrutiny.

"Poor thing!" murmured Irene with a sigh of relief, and hardly conscious that she was addressing Stump. "I cannot help pitying her, though I am glad she has gone."

"She an' the Baron make a good pair, Miss," said Stump. "I've had my eye on 'em, an' they're up to some mischief now, or my name ain't wot it is."

The girl glanced at him wonderingly, for the sturdy sailor's outspoken opinion fitted in curiously with her own half-formed thought.

"You would not say that if you knew why they have left us," she said.

"Mebbe not, Miss Fenshawe, an' mebbe you've on'y heard half a yarn, if you'll pardon my way of puttin' it. Anyway, the Baron is in a mighty hurry to be off; an' isn't it plain enough that he doesn't want to be here when Mr. Royson comes back? You mark my words, Miss. You'll hear something that'll surprise you when our second mate heaves in sight."

Never did man prophesy more truly, yet never was prophet more amazed at his own success....

Royson and Abdur Kad'r, flying for their lives, spurred on by the further knowledge that even if they escaped capture or death they yet had to undertake a difficult journey on tired beasts if they would save the expedition from the attack evidently meditated by Alfieri and his cohort of plunderers, the two, then—Englishman and Arab—rode like men who valued their necks but lightly.

Bullets sang close to their ears, and one actually chipped the stock of Dick's rifle, almost unseating him by the force of the blow. But the Bisharins were excited, and forgot their fatigue for a mile or so, by which time night fell, and the uncanny darkness soon rendered it quite impossible to ride at all. They dismounted, and led the camels. Abdur Kad'r, true son of the desert, pressed forward nimbly, since every yard gained was a yard stolen from the pursuers. After a while they were able to mount again, but now the jaded camels lagged, and not all the sheik's prayers or imprecations could force them even into the regulation pace of two and a half miles an hour.

To make matters worse, a hot breeze sprang up from the south, and stirred the desert into curling sand-wraiths, which blinded them and made it hard to detect sounds even close at hand. They were fully thirty miles distant from the camp, with eight hours of darkness before them, during which time they could hope to cover only half the march. The thought rose unbidden that the remaining half must be undertaken in daylight, with wornout camels, while the Hadendowa kafila was presumably in fresh condition.

Something of the sort must have been in Abdur Kad'r's mind when, he said:

"The misbegotten thieves who follow, Effendi, will count on overtaking us soon after daybreak. We must keep the water-bags fastened until the dawn. Then let the camels empty them."

Royson silently debated the chances for and against an endeavor to rush the journey on foot. If practicable, he would have attempted it, leaving the Arab to save himself and the camels by adopting a longer route. He decided that the project must fail. He could not find the road at night, and his thin boots would be cut to pieces by the rocks before he had gone many miles.

Yet, if they were overtaken, what would happen to Irene and the others? A sharp pain gripped his breast, and his eyes clouded. He threw back his head, and passed a hand over his clammy brow. The action seemed to clear his brain, and he saw instantly that there was only one course open to him. "Abdur Kad'r," he said, when a level space enabled them to walk side by side, "which of our camels is the stronger?"

"They are both weary, Effendi, but mine has carried less weight than yours. Ere he fell for the last time, he would lead."

"Listen, then, and do as I say. If we are attacked to-night I shall stand and face our assailants. You ride on alone. I shall try to gain a fair start for you. You know what depends on your efforts. Should you fail, you not only lose life and fortune, but you also endanger the lives of many. You must reach the camp by some means. And, when you see Miss Fenshawe, tell her that my last thought was of her. Do you understand?"

"Effendi—"

"Have you understood my words? Will you deliver that message?"

"Yes, Effendi, but we men of the desert do not fly while our friends fight."

"I well believe it, Abdur Kad'r. Yet that is my order. Will you obey?"

"I like it not, Effendi."

"There is no other way. What can you suggest that will be better? I remain—that is a settled thing. You gain nothing by not trying to escape. And remember, these Arabs will think twice before they slay a European."

"They will shoot first and think afterwards, Effendi."

"Well, we shall see. Perhaps they have given up the chase. In case they come upon us, lash your camel into a trot, and wait not for me, because I shall ride back, not forward."

The sheikh muttered a comprehensive curse on things in general and the Hadendowa tribe in particular. They stumbled on in silence for nearly two hours. At the end of that time they descended a difficult slope into a deep wady. Fortunately, they had crossed it by daylight early that morning, so its hazards were vivid in memory. In the rock-strewn bed of the vanished river, Abdur Kad'r halted a moment. The light of the stars was strong enough to reveal the horizon, which was visible through the fall of the valley, and the nearer crests of the neighboring watershed were quite distinct—showing black against luminous ultramarine.

"That seaward track I spoke of, Effendi, passes this way to the hills. The Well of Moses lies down there," and the Arab, more by force of habit than because Royson could see him in that gloomy defile, threw out his chin towards the east.

Suddenly, it struck Royson that provided he had guessed aright, the Roman Legion which sacked Saba must have marched over this identical spot, in their effort to reach the Nile. After twenty marches, von Kerber said, they were waylaid by a Nubian clan and slain—every man— from the proud tribune down to the humblest hastatus. Perhaps they were surrounded in some such trap as this valley would provide. And what a fight that was! What deeds of valor, what hewing and stabbing, ere the last centurion fell at the head of the last remnant of a cohort, and the despairing Greek commissary, gazing wild-eyed from some nook of safety, saw the Roman eagle sink for ever!

Abdur Kad'r, little dreaming of the train of thought he had aroused, moved on again. Dick had drawn taut the head-rope of his unwilling camel when the brute uttered a squeal of recognition, and both men saw several mounted Arabs silhouetted against the northern sky-line. An answering grunt came from one of their camels, and a hubbub of voices sank faintly into the somber depths, as the wind was not felt in that sheltered place.

The sheikh swore fluently, but Royson spoke no word until they were free of the boulders, and had gained a passable incline which led to the steeper path up the opposing cliff.

"Now, Abdur Kad'r—" he said.

"Name of Allah, Effendi, this thing must not be!"

"It must. Go, my good comrade. It is for the best."

Abdur Kad'r smote his camel on the cheek.

"I never imagined, Bisharin, that thou would carry me away from a friend in danger," he growled, "but this is God's doing, and thou art a rogue at all times. I shall either ride thee to death or kill thee for a feast," He would not bid Royson farewell. Dick heard him tugging the camel forward.

"Forget not my words to the Effendina," he said quietly.

"I shall not forget," came a voice from the darkness, and he was alone.

Though he knew he was face to face with death, he felt no tremor of fear. He surveyed his position coolly, and took his stand in the shadow of a mass of granite close to whose base the track wound up the hillside. In case the unexpected happened, he fastened his camel to a loose stone behind the rock, and the poor animal knelt instantly, thinking that a night's rest was vouchsafed at last. Dick threw off the Arab robes he had worn since Abdur Kad'r and he climbed the hill overlooking Suleiman's Well. He opened and closed the breech of his heavy double-barreled Express rifle to make sure that the sand clouds had not clogged its mechanism, and fingered the cartridges in his cross-belt.

Then he waited. It would take the Hadendowas fully five minutes to come up with him, and he experienced a feeling akin to astonishment that he could bide his time so patiently, without any pang of anxiety, or hope, or agonizing misgiving. He thought of Irene, but only of her welfare. If he were not brought down by a chance bullet early in the fray, he felt quite certain of being able to stave off the final rush long enough to give Abdur Kad'r a breathing spell, he had sufficient confidence in that wily old Arab's resources to believe that he would outwit his pursuers, provided they lost a good deal of time in passing this barrier.

Plan he had none, save to hail the enemy in Arabic and English, and then put up a strenuous fight for the benefit of those who approached nearest.

Round the shoulder of the rock he could look eastward, and a glimmering mist in that direction reminded him of the sea, and of the Aphrodite. What a difference a hundred miles made! The luxuriously appointed yacht sailed out there in the midst of the ghostly cloud not so long ago. And here was he, clutching a rifle and preparing to sell his life in order to save most of her passengers and crew from a sudden attack by a gang of bloodthirsty ruffians led by a frenzied Italian. As a study in contrasts that was rather striking, he fancied.

At last he heard the shuffling of camels' feet and the mutterings of men. The Hadendowas were crossing the river bed.

"Stop!" he shouted, in Arabic. "You die otherwise!"

There was an instant silence. They were evidently not prepared for this bold challenge.

"I am an Englishman," he added, still in Arabic, and, in the belief that some of them might at least recognize the sound of English, he went on:

"You have no right to molest me and my servants. I call on you to return to your master, and set at liberty the Arab Hussain—"

He was answered by a perfect blaze of rifles. Every man fired at random. At least a dozen bullets crashed against the rock. A violent tug at his left sleeve and some spatters of hot lead on his cheek showed that one missile had come too near to be pleasant. After passing through his coat it had splashed on the granite just behind him.

He did not speak again, nor would he fire until sure of a mark. Another volley lit the darkness. This time he made out the forms of his attackers. They were standing some twenty yards away, and he marveled that they seemed not to see him; though he reflected at once, with the utmost nonchalance, that the blinding flash of the guns screened him quite effectually from their eyes.

Then he saw two dim figures moving swiftly forward. He brought both down, and their yells rent the air.

He sprang sideways, as far as the narrow road permitted, and reloaded. The Arabs aimed wildly at the place where he had just been standing. One of their number screamed a command, and they made a combined rush. He fired both barrels into their midst, clubbed his rifle and jumped forward. That was good generalship, of the sort dear to the heart of his great ancestor. At the first tremendous sweep of his weapon he broke off its stock against an Arab's body. That did not matter. The heavy barrels were staunch, and iron deals harder blows than wood. He was active as a cat, and had the strength of any four of his adversaries. With lightning-like whirls he smote them so resolutely that when five were laid low the rest broke, and ran. He actually pursued them, and brought down two more, before he stumbled over the body of one whom he had shot.

And that ended the fight. He heard men scrambling over the rocks in panic, and he knew by the grunting and groaning of distant camels that all the kafila had stampeded. Searching the fallen man at his feet, he found a full cartridge-belt and rifle. He took them, lest there should be further need, but did not relinquish the trusty weapon which had more than equalized an unequal combat.

Then he went to his camel. The terrified brute had risen, and was tugging madly at its rope. It seemed to recognize him, and be grateful for his presence, if ever a camel can display gratitude. He gave it the contents of the water-bag, led it to the top of the cliff, and stood there a brief space to listen. Some wounded men were calling loudly for help, and he was sorry for the poor wretches; but there was no response from their flying comrades. He fixed on a star to guide his course by, mounted, and rode away to the south, trusting more to his camel's sense of direction than to his own efforts to keep on the track.

When dawn appeared, a dawn that was glorious to him beyond measure, he caught sight of a precipitous hill which he remembered passing on the outward march. Looking back at the first favorable point, he could see nothing that betokened the presence of Hadendowas, or any other human beings, in all that far-flung solitude. Were it not for the presence of the Italian rifle and cartridge-belt, and the blood-stained gun-barrels resting across his knees, the fierce struggle in that forbidding valley might have been the delirium of a fever-dream.

He rode on, munching contentedly at a biscuit from his haversack, until his glance was drawn to a cloud of dust hanging in the air, for the unpleasant wind of the previous night had given way to a softer and cooler breeze. He read its token correctly, and smiled at the picture which his fancy drew of Stump, when that choleric skipper heard what had happened to his second mate. Surely he would be among those now hurrying to the rescue!

And he was not mistaken. With Stump came Abdur Kad'r, six of the Aphrodite's crew, and a score of well-armed Arabs and negroes. Even before they met, Royson saw two Arabs race back towards the camp, and Stump, after the first hearty congratulations, explained the hurry of those messengers.

"It's mainly on account of Miss Irene," he said. "She took on something awful when the sheikh blew in an' tole us you had gone under. He heard the shootin', you see, an', accordin' to his account, you were as full of lead as Tagg'll be full of beer when he listens to the yarn I'll spin nex' time we meet."

Abdur Kad'r's black eyes sparkled when Royson spoke to him.

"_Salaam aleikum, Effendi!" he cried. "You have redeemed my honor. Never again could I have held up my head had you been slain while I ran. And that shaitan of a camel—he stirred himself. By the Prophet, I must kill an older one to make a feast for my men."



CHAPTER XVII

HOW THREE ROADS LED IN ONE DIRECTION

The news that her lover was safe restored the sparkle to Irene's eyes and the color to her wan cheeks. Fenshawe, indeed, had not given her the full measure of Abdur Kad'r's breathless recital. Recent events had led the old curio-hunter to view life in less ultra-scientific spirit than was his habit. Perhaps he had re-awakened to the knowledge that the hearts of men and women are apt to be swayed by other impulses than his dry-as-dust interest in dead cities and half-forgotten races. Most certainly he was shocked by the agony in the girl's face when she heard that the sheikh had returned alone, and, if he wondered at the low wail of despair which broke from her lips, he said nothing of it at the moment, but mercifully suppressed Abdur Kad'r's story of the Effendi's resolve to make a stand against his pursuers, and thus enable his companion to reach and warn the camp.

The version Irene heard was that Royson's camel had fallen lame, and it was deemed safer he should hide until help came, than mount behind Abdur Kad'r and risk the slower journey. Fenshawe reasoned that Royson might be captured, not killed. His long experience of Arab life told him that the tribesmen would be chary of murdering a European, for fear of the vengeance to be exacted later. Nevertheless, this comforting theory was more than balanced by the disquieting facts revealed by the sheikh, who, as he rode wildly to the south, heard a sharp outburst of firing in the valley behind him.

Yet it was well that Irene had not been told the whole truth, else that anxious little heart of hers might have stormed itself into a fever of despair. As it was, her pent emotions found relief in tears of joy when the messengers brought the news of Royson's approach with the rescue party, and her eyelids were still suspiciously red, her lips somewhat tremulous, when, standing by her grandfather's side, she welcomed his return.

Though a hundred eyes were fixed on the two—though some of those eyes watched them with a keenness inspired by the belief that this reunion had in it a romantic element quite apart from the drama of the hour— their meeting apparently partook only of that friendly character warranted by the unusual circumstances. And, in the general excitement, none who looked at Royson paid heed to the hardships he had undergone. He had hardly closed his eyes during two nights and three days, for the rest obtained while he and Abdur Kad'r awaited the outcome of Hussain's embassy was calculated rather to add to his physical exhaustion than relieve it. He had covered eighty miles of desert on scanty fare, and had fought a short but terrific fight against a dozen adversaries. Yet, his cool demeanor and unwearied carriage conveyer! no hint of fatigue— to all outward seeming he might have been entering the encampment after an ordinary march, when a basin of water and a change of clothing were the chief essentials of existence. It was not so, of course. Were he made of steel he must have felt the strain of those sixty hours, and he almost yielded to it when he dismounted, and Fenshawe led him inside the mess tent.

The older man invited him to be seated, and tell his adventures while eating the meal which had been prepared for him and Stump as soon as their camels were seen in the distance. But Dick, half unconsciously, still clutched the broken rifle. There were blood stains on his clothing, which was ripped in the most obvious way by bullets that had either wounded him or actually grazed his skin. Fenshawe's keen old eyes made a rapid inventory of these signs of strife, and he forgot, in his anxiety, that Irene was present.

"Good heavens, man," he cried, "you have been in the wars. Did those scoundrels attack you, then? Are you hurt?"

"No," said Dick, sinking into a chair, and trying to speak with his customary nonchalance, "I am not injured—just a wee bit tired—that is all."

Irene flew to his side. She took the soiled gun-barrels, from his relaxing grip, and began to unfasten the collar hooks of his uniform.

"Don't you see he is almost fainting?" she demanded, reproachfully. "Bring some brandy and cold water, quick! Oh, Dick, dear, speak to me! Are you sure you are not wounded? If it is only want of food and sleep, we can soon put that right, but do tell me if you have a wound."

Dick smiled, though he knew his face was white beneath the dust and tan, and he could not lift his arms for the life of him.

"I'm all right," he whispered. "I suppose I'm suffering from heart trouble, Irene. Haven't seen you for two nights and a day, you know."

He must have been a trifle light-headed, or he would not have spoken to her in that way before her grandfather. Mr. Fenshawe, remembering the girl's shyness of the previous day, may have thought a good deal, but said nothing, seeing that Irene was supremely indifferent to either his thoughts or his words at that instant, while Royson seemed to be heedless of any other fact than the exceedingly pleasant one that his beloved was holding a glass to his lips and asking him to gratify her by swallowing the contents.

As for Stump, who was not aware of his second mate's rise in the world, the manner of their speech affected him so powerfully that he was in imminent danger of an apoplectic seizure. His condition was rendered all the more dangerous because he dared utter no word. But he silently used the sailor-like formula which applies to such unexpected situations, and added certain other variations of the rubric from the extensive resources of his own private vocabulary. He recovered his breath by the time Dick's attack, of weakness had passed, and the color of his face slowly subsided from, a deep purple to its abiding tint of brick red.

"Rather a sudden indisposition," said Fenshawe to Stump, smiling quizzically as he watched Irene supporting Royson's head while she urged him tenderly to drink a little more of the stimulant.

"Is that wot you call it?" asked the captain of the Aphrodite, mopping his glowing cheeks with a handkerchief of brilliant hue. "I thought it was a stroke of some kind, 'but I've fair lost my bearin's since I gev' over plashin' at sea."

The amazement of the elders at the manner in which those young people addressed each other was slight in comparison with the thrill Royson caused when he had taken some soup, and was prepared to do justice to more solid food.

"I had a rather lively set-to with a number of Hadendowas," he explained in response to a question from Mr. Fenshawe. "It was brief but strenuous, and I assure you it is a marvel that I came out of it practically without a scratch. At any rate, it does not call for a detailed description now, seeing that I have something of vastly greater importance to tell you. May I ask, sir, if you have photographs of the papyrus in your possession?"

"Yes. They are in my tent. Shall I bring them?" "If you please. I think I have news that will interest you."

"One word before I go. Abdur Kad'r said that the Italians had abandoned Suleiman's Well. Have they found the treasure, do you think?"

"No, sir. Just the reverse. I believe that I have found it myself, and, if I am not mistaken, Mrs. Haxton and the Baron, from what Captain Stump tells me, are now far on their way to the right place, if they have not already reached it."

"Wot did I say, Miss Irene?" broke in Stump fiercely. "Oh, he's deep is that there Baron. I sized him up when he med off yesterday. An' Mrs. Haxton, too! A nice pair of beauties."

"Whatever wrong Mrs. Haxton may have done in the past, I refuse to believe that she was swayed by some merely selfish consideration in leaving us as she did," said Irene softly, and her grandfather thanked her with a look as he quitted the tent.

Stump shook his head.

"She's as artful as a pet fox," he growled; but he had no listeners. Dick and Irene were far too much occupied in gazing at each other.

Mr. Fenshawe returned speedily. He spread out ten photographs on the table in front of Royson. With them was a typewritten document divided into ten sections.

"That is the English translation," he explained. "Each numbered division corresponds with a similar number on a photograph. It simplifies reference."

Dick examined the translation eagerly. The first slip of papyrus read:

"In the seventh year of the reign of the renowned Emperor, C. Julius Caesar Octavianus, I, Demetriades, son of Pelopidos, merchant of Syracuse, being at that time a trader in ivory and skins at Alexandria, did foolishly abandon my wares in that city, and join the legion sent from Egypt to subdue the people of Shaba."

He saw that the letters in the word "seventh," though writ in archaic Greek, bore the same space relation to the neighboring characters as did all others in the script. Reading on carefully until he came to the first leaf of the papyri in which the "Five Hills" were named, he observed Instantly that the word "pente," five, had its letters crowded together. Now the Greek for seven, hepta, has only four characters, the aspirate being marked over the initial vowel. This same crowding of "pente" was discernible each time it occurred in the text. It was a coincidence that was too intrusive. The obvious explanation was that "hepta" had been deleted and "pente" substituted in every instance, and the fraud had not been detected because the rest of the Greek writing was absolutely genuine. The hieroglyphs In cartouches, which von Kerber had admittedly tampered with, were beyond Royson's ken.

He was so taken up with this confirmation of his views, and so eager to make clear the queer chance that led Abdur Kad'r to explain the name of the Well of Moses, that he was blind to the growing wrath in Mr. Fenshawe's face until he happened to catch the indignant note in the older man's voice as he bade a servant summon the sheikh. Then a single glance told him what he had done. The wounded vanity of the famous Egyptologist had risen in its might, and swept aside all other considerations. The man of wealth could permit his charitable instincts to govern the scorn evoked by the Austrian's petty tactics, but the outraged enthusiasm of the collector was a torrent that engulfed charity and expediency alike in its flood. Nothing short of the most painstaking personal examination of the oasis at the Well of Moses would now convince the millionaire that von Kerber had not tricked him at the eleventh hour.

Though the expedition was in Italian territory, though he was aware that a tribe of hostile Arabs was already hovering on the outskirts of the camp, though the presence of Irene rendered it imperative that he should not risk the attack which would probably be made that night, these urgent conditions of the moment did not prevail in the least degree against the maddening suspicion that the self-confessed forger who had duped him had put the seal on a piece of clever rascality by exploiting the real treasure-ground for his own benefit.

Royson was far from expecting this development. Yet, now that it had occurred, he saw that it was inevitable. Before Abdur Kad'r appeared he guessed why Mr. Fenshawe wanted him in such a hurry. Irene, who had never known her grandfather to be so greatly disturbed, whispered earnestly to her lover:

"If grandad wishes you to follow von Kerber, you must be too ill to do anything of the sort."

"Then I shall remain here alone," said he, smiling at her dismay. "Unless I am much mistaken we shall all be hot on his track before we are many hours older."

He was right. When the sheikh came he received orders to prepare for an instant march towards the coast by way of the caravan route. Then the burning zeal of archeology received a check.

"It is impossible that the kafila should move in that direction before to-morrow's dawn, O worthy of honor," said Abdur Kad'r emphatically. "We can march south to-day, if Allah wills it, knowing that we shall find food and water within fifteen kilometers without fail. To reach the Well of Moses is a different thing. I have not seen the place during thirty years. We must travel early and late, and carry with us a water supply that will not only suffice for the journey but safeguard us against any failure of the well when we arrive there. What proof have we, Effendi, that it is not choked with sand?"

Fenshawe was too skilled in the varying contingencies of desert life not to admit the truth of the sheikh's reasoning, but he held to the belief that von Kerber had secret information as to the practicability of the route.

"Be it so," he said curtly. "Let every preparation be made. We have no cause to fear these dogs of Hadendowas. I charge myself with the care of the camp where they are concerned. See to it, Abdur Kad'r, that we start ere sunrise."

The conversation was in Arabic, so Stump could not gather its drift. When he learnt his employer's intentions he roared gleefully:

"By gad, sir, I'm pleased to 'ear you're makin' for blue water once more. Just for a minute I fancied you was tellin' our brown pilot to shove after von Kerber, an' string 'im up."

Mr. Fenshawe laughed grimly.

"The rogue deserves it, but I cannot take the law into my own hands, captain," he said.

"Oh, that wasn't botherin' me," was the offhand answer. "I was on'y wonderin' where you would find a suitable tree."

Fenshawe bent over the table, and asked Royson to go through the papyri with him, comparing the Greek, word for word, with the translation. He himself was able to decipher the hieroglyphs, but the details and measurements they gave might be dismissed as unreliable. Depending, however, on the context, and having ascertained from Abdur Kad'r that the seven small lava hills at Moses's Well stood in an irregular circle near the oasis, it was a reasonable deduction that the Romans had selected a low-lying patch of sand or gravel somewhere in the center of the group as a suitable hiding-place for their loot. It might be assumed that Aelius Gallus meant to sail down the Red Sea again, within a year at the utmost, and recover the spoil when his galleys were there to receive it. Therefore, he would not dig too deeply, nor, in the straits to which he was reduced, would he waste many hours on the task.

Fenshawe infected Dick with his own ardor. The two were puzzling over each turn and twist of the Greek adventurer's awkward phrases when Irene, who had gone out with Stump, interrupted them.

"Dick," she said, blushing poppy red because she used his familiar name, "you must go and rest at once. I am sure, grandad, you don't want Mr. Royson to break down a second time, do you? And I would like both of you to know that Baron von Kerber took with him no pickaxes. Captain Stump and I have just checked our stock. That seems to be in his favor, I think?"

"If I have done von Kerber an injustice I shall be the first to ask his pardon," said Fenshawe. "At present, I have every cause to doubt the man's motives in leaving us, and I want more than negative proof to acquit him of dishonesty. By the way, Irene, have you told Royson of his good fortune?"

"I have hardly spoken two words to him since he arrived," said she innocently.

"Dear me! That sounds like a strong hint," and Fenshawe very considerately left the two alone. Tired as Dick was, the best part of an hour elapsed before Irene could explain fully that he was now a baronet, with a reasonably large income, or he could make her understand exactly why he was a somewhat frayed out-of-work when they met in London.

Perhaps there were interludes and interruptions. Perhaps he thought that the limpid depths of her brown eyes offered more attractions than the sordid records of a foolish man's spite and a boy's sufferings. At any rate, it was Irene who finally insisted that this must positively be the last, and who threatened that she would not speak to him again that day if he stirred out of his tent before dinner.

And, indeed, Dick required no rocking when, after a refreshing wash, he stretched his long limbs in his hammock. His sleep was dreamless. He awoke at sundown strong in the conviction that he had hardly closed his eyes.

He and Stump shared the tent, and Dick's uncertain gaze first dwelt on his skipper, who was seated at the door, smoking. Stump removed his pipe from between his teeth:

"Good evenin', Sir Richard," he said solemnly. Then the huge joke he had been cogitating ever since Irene informed him at luncheon that Royson was now a man of title mastered him completely.

"Sink me," he burst forth, "I've had some daisies of second mates under me in me time, but I've never bossed a bloomin' barrow-knight afore. My godfather! Won't Becky be pleased! An' wot'll Tagg say? Pore old Tagg! He'll 'ave a fit!"

"Look here, captain—" began Dick, swinging his feet to the ground. But Stump's slow-moving wits, given full time to get under weigh, were working freely; punctuating each pause with a flourish of his pipe, he continued:

"Lord love a duck, I can see Tagg blowin' in to a snug in the West Injia Dock Road, an' startin' ev'ry yarn with, 'W'en I sailed down the Red Sea with Sir Richard—' or, 'We was goin' through the Gut on a dirty night, an' Sir Richard sez to me—' Well, there, I on'y hope 'e survives the fust shock. W'en 'e gets 'is wind we'll 'ave a fair treat. Mind ye, I 'ad a sort of funny feelin' when you tole me in the train you was my second mate, an' you sat there a-wearin' knickers. It gev me a turn, that did. An' then, you took another twist at me by sayin' you'd never bin to sea. I knew things was goin' to happen after that. It must ha' bin, wot d'ye call it—second sight—for I knew then an' there I'd got a prize in the lottery—"

"Oh, shut up!" shouted Royson, diving frantically for his boots.

"That's no way for a barrow-knight to talk to 'is admirin' skipper," said Stump. "But I s'pose, now, it sounds queer to 'ave me a-callin' you Sir Richard, w'en, as like as not, I might be dammin' your eyes as second mate?"

Royson tried to escape, in his hurry he did not notice a bulky letter which lay on the top of one of his leather trunks. Stump called him back.

"You're missin' your mail, Sir Richard," he said, and Dick, perforce, returned. Oddly enough, the letter covered the initials "R. K." painted on the portmanteau. Turning a deaf ear to Stump's further pleasantries, he opened the envelope. A scrawl on a sheet of thin continental note- paper contained the brief statement that, "by inadvertence," von Kerber had "detained the enclosed letters and cablegrams." The enclosures, which were from Mr. Forbes, bore out the accuracy of Mrs. Haxton's revelations. He was, in very truth, the twenty-seventh baronet of his line, sole owner of Orme Castle and its dependencies, and befitted, by rank, descent, and estate, to take a social position of no mean order.

For an instant he forgot his surroundings. He recalled the stately old house and its beautiful park as he had last seen it, with all its glories rejuvenated by the money that was pouring in to the coffers of his detested relative. And now that malign old man was at rest, after a tardy admission of the grievous evil he had wrought to his brother's wife and son. Well, peace be to his crooked bones! Dick could have wished him safely in Paradise if the wish would restore to life his beloved mother. And she, dear soul—though he had forgotten her last night—perhaps her gentle spirit was shielding him as he stood with his back to the rock and faced the vicious swarm of Arabs in the darkness.

Then Stump's gruff accents broke in on his dreaming.

"Is it O.K., Sir Richard?" he asked. "Them's the papers von Kerber held up, I reckon? Have ye got a clean bill?"

Royson stooped and grasped Stump's shoulder.

"When we reach England, skipper," he said, "you and Tagg, and Mrs. Stump, too, for that matter, must come and see my place in the North. An' I'll tell ye wot," he went on, with fair mimicry of Stump's voice and manner, "you'll all 'ave the time of your lives, sink me, if you don't!"

Stump glared up at him. No man had ever before dared to reproduce that hoarse growl for his edification, and the effect was electrical. It might be likened to the influence exercised on a bull by the bellow of a rival. He took breath for a mighty effort—and Royson fled.

Be sure that Irene, though vastly occupied with work which von Kerber had performed hitherto—those small but troublesome items appertaining to the daily life of a large encampment—had an eye to watch for Dick's reappearance. She hailed him joyfully:

"Such news! The enemy proclaims a truce. Alfieri has sent in Hussain and Abdullah, not to mention the purloined camel. And one of his own men has brought a note for grandfather, asking an early conference."

At first, Royson was unfeignedly glad of this unlooked for turn in events. He did not share Mr. Fenshawe's optimism in the matter of a night attack by the Hadendowas, because Irene was there—and who could hope to shield her beyond risk of accident when long-range rifles were sniping the camp?

Alfieri's letter was civil and apologetic. He explained that he had no quarrel with the English leader of the expedition—his feud lay with the Austrian and the woman who had helped to despoil him (Alfieri) of his rights. He felt assured, he said, that Signor Fenshawe—whose fame as an Egyptologist was well known to him—would not be a consenting party to fraud, and he wished, therefore, to arrange a meeting for the following day, when he would state his case fully, face those who had robbed him, and leave the final decision with confidence in the hands of one whose repute made it certain that justice would be done.

The appeal was written in hardly intelligible English, but an Italian version accompanied it, and Irene was able to translate every word of the latter.

"Of course, grandad agreed," said Irene. "He has fixed on seven o'clock to-morrow for the conference. I am looking forward with curiosity to seeing Alfieri again. I remember him perfectly. Captain Stump and I had a good look at him in Massowah, you know."

"Has the messenger gone back already?"

"Oh, yes. He left the camp two hours ago."

"Did he speak to any of our men?"

"He may have done so. I'm not sure. We were so taken up with Alfieri's communication that we gave no heed to the Arab. But grandad said, by the way, that it was just as well he should see our strength, and that we had a dozen armed sailors here, in addition to so many natives. You are worrying about me, I suppose? Allow me to observe that I, as staff officer, have assisted the commander-in-chief to divide our forces into two strong guards for the night. Grandfather commands one, Captain Stump the other, while you, O King, have to sleep soundly until the dawn."

"But I have just slept eight hours!"

"Oh, well, being on the staff, I also arranged that we should mount guard together until eleven o'clock."

It went against the grain to dash her high spirits with the doubt that had seized him as soon as he heard of the Hadendowa Arab's departure. In all probability, the man had found out that von Kerber and Mrs. Haxton were no longer in the camp. The negro syces and other attendants were inveterate gossips, and it would be strange if they had not told him that some of their number were marching towards the sea with the Hakim-Effendi and one of the Giaour women. What would happen were this knowledge to come to Alfieri's ears? The man who had not scrupled to order the pursuit and capture—the death, if need be—of Royson himself and Abdur Kad'r, was not a stickler at trifles. It was reasonable to suppose that he was making overtures of peace solely because his scouts had revealed the size of the expedition. How would he act under these fresh circumstances? Judging by the pact, there could be only one answer.

"Now what is it?" pouted Irene, trying to assume an injured air when she saw the grave look in her lover's face. "Perhaps you don't care for the eleven o'clock idea? I thought you would like to sit and smoke, and tell me everything that happened since—since I said good-by to you the other evening, but, of course—"

"If you gaze at me so reproachfully, Irene, I shall kiss you now, this instant, under the eyes of every man, horse, and camel."

"Well, then, what is the matter? I know something is worrying you. I can read your face like a book."

"I distrust Alfieri, dearest,—that is all."

"But he simply dare not fight us. Grandad knows these Arabs for many years. He says that they depend wholly on a surprise. And how can we be surprised, when Alfieri himself admits that he is near, and has actually sent Abdullah, who can tell us the exact number of his men?"

"I think I shall call you Portia, not Irene, if you reason things out in that fashion."

She stamped a foot in mock anger.

"That is your old trick," she said. "You try to hide your thoughts by an adroit twist in the conversation. Out with it! What do you really fear?"

"Let us find Abdullah. Then I shall tell you."

The Spear-thrower, though polite, was not disposed to be communicative. The absence of the two people who were his allies had puzzled him, and none of the Arabs could meet his inquiries as to the motives which led to their sudden journey. In this man's attitude Royson found ample corroboration of his own estimate of Alfieri's views under similar conditions. Abdullah obviously did not believe that von Kerber had abandoned the quest. He fancied he was betrayed. If the chance offered, he might be expected to throw in his lot with Alfieri.

Though Irene was listening, and Dick was sure she had hit on the true cause of his anxiety, he determined to win Abdullah's loyalty. So he told him of Mr. Fenshawe's resolve to follow the seaward route.

"Your interests, whatever they may be, are absolutely safe if you trust us," he said. "The Baron, is only two marches ahead of us. He does not know we are going the same way. He thinks we are making for Pajura, so we will most certainly overtake him at the coast, if not earlier. Thus, you can convince yourself of his good faith, and you can see for yourself that the ultimate decision of affairs must rest with us."

The Arab bowed, but he kept a still tongue. Yet he admitted afterwards that Royson's words had diverted him from his fixed Intent to steal off when night fell, and urge Alfieri to pursue the runaways.

The Italian needed no urging. Dick advised Mr. Fenshawe to send out two men on horseback in order to locate the Hadendowas. Hussain, who was acquainted with the country, volunteered for this duty, and he and his companion came in at midnight with the depressing report that Alfieri and his free-booters were not to be found on the main track to Suleiman's Well.

By this time, not only Fenshawe and Irene, but Stump and Abdur Kad'r, when called into counsel, shared Dick's foreboding. It was impossible to do anything before dawn, and the sole difficulty that remained was to decide whether they should march, when the first streaks of light showed in the sky, or await the hour fixed for the interview with Alfieri. They resolved to leave Hussain and a few trustworthy men at the oasis, with instructions to remain there until eight o'clock. If Alfieri kept his tryst, they were to give him a letter, written by Irene, which asked him to follow and join the expedition. Otherwise, they were to ride after the caravan at top speed, and report his non- arrival.