Or would they shoot? A new idea came to Bob. In this still desert air, the sound of shots would carry far. If his one lone shot of a minute before were to be succeeded by a volley, Ali and Jack would take alarm, and perhaps even back at the oasis the alarm would be given. This party consisted only of ten men. Perhaps, they preferred moving soundlessly rather than run the risk of bringing a party of equal strength upon them. Perhaps, they would not use their rifles at first, should he attack their leader, expecting to see him overcome. Well, if they only withheld their fire until he could grasp the rascal and seize his rifle, Bob wouldn’t care. With a weapon in his hand, he could go down fighting. What a fool he was, anyway, to have left the oasis without his automatic.
One phase of the situation which Bob did not take into account was that, even if Ali and Jack managed to discover his predicament and either came to his rescue themselves or set out to rouse the oasis, the attacking party could escape because of the greater swiftness of their horses as compared to camels.
Instead, as the leader of the attackers approached—a strikingly handsome young man, with a round firm face, hawklike nose and crisping brown hair, Bob set himself for a flying leap from the camel. The leader rode slightly in advance of the others, who mounted the sliding sand hill in a semicircle behind him, toward Bob sitting his camel on the top of the hill. Then an astonishing thing happened.
“Attendez, monsieur,” called the leader, in French. “It will be useless to resist.”
Now Bob had studied French. In fact, he could manage a conversation both in French and Spanish, although somewhat better in the latter language because of the opportunities he had to learn it at first hand when in South America, as narrated in “The Radio Boys Search for the Inca Treasure.” But hearing French from the lips of this Athensian almost bowled him from his seat in surprise.
Yet Bob was not so certain of the folly of resistance. He believed he had weighed the situation, and he was willing to take a chance. He was sitting his camel sidewise to the approaching party. The off leg he had slowly brought up to the point where a quick fling would free it of the saddle. Pressing his left foot down hard into the awkward stirrup, he suddenly gave a spring upward and outward. At the same time he brought his right leg over the saddle. Forward he launched, as if shot from a catapult. His one hundred and ninety pounds of bone and muscle struck the young Athensian on the shoulder with irresistible force, as Bob hurtled the five-foot gap separating them.
Simultaneously, the big fellow sent his useless rifle crashing into the face of the nearest Athensian rider to the rear and slightly to the right side of the leader. The latter was knocked out of his saddle.
Bob’s arms went out as he struck the body of the leader, and they closed convulsively about him. Thus, as the young Athensian was hurled from his saddle by the force of the blow, Bob was dragged along. He fell on top of his victim, knocking all the fight out of him. The other lay still and inert.
A bit dazed himself, but with his wits still about him, Bob scrambled to his feet as the frightened horse of the Athensian leader dashed wildly into a rider approaching from the left. In a twinkling there was a pretty mix-up of horsemen, shouts and shrill screams. But in his primary object, which was to possess himself of the leader’s rifle, Bob had failed. The weapon had been tossed some distance away in the impact, and as he gazed around him it could not be seen.
Three or four horsemen were in a tangle where the bolting animal had created panic, and evidently were devoting their attention not alone to regaining control of their own mounts but also to securing the runaway. Another man lay writhing on the ground, where he had been knocked by the force of Bob’s rifle flung into his face. The leader lay at Bob’s feet.
But four horsemen still remained clear of entanglements, and they were closing in on Bob on three sides. He would have to act quickly. What was to be done? Retreat to the summit and attempt to regain the saddle of his camel, which over his shoulder he could see standing immovable despite all the commotion? No, too awkward to get back on that clumsy beast, and besides he could not outdistance the pursuers.
Now, if he only had a horse. Quickly as thought, Bob with a tremendous tensing of his leg muscles beneath him, and gathering up his flowing burnoose about his waist, leaped a full five feet in the air, as the nearest of the approaching horsemen came broadside on and reached out to clutch his hair. The meaning of the man’s movement did not escape Bob, even in this crisis. Evidently, he was to be taken prisoner, but he was not to be killed. Otherwise a shot could quite easily have ended the fight.
Bob’s leap disconcerted the other, and Bob’s arms, closing about his waist from the rear, almost pulled him from the saddle. But the Athensian clung desperately, knees gripping tight and one hand clinging to the high horn of the saddle, and thus, as the horse leaped ahead in fright, the Athensian retained his seat while Bob pulled himself up behind him.
“Whoop-ee,” yelled Bob, enjoying himself to the full, and taking an animal delight in the fight. The blood in his veins sang in exultation. The heady wine of success against odds had intoxicated him.
Now to turn the horse for the oasis and flee, with his captive.
The next moment a crashing blow descended on his head from the rear, and he pitched forward against the Athensian. In a unconquerable haze against which he fought but without success, he felt himself falling, and then felt strong arms encircle him from the side and lower him to the ground. The next moment he lost consciousness.
For a long time before regaining full consciousness, Bob was confusedly aware of pain. He had nightmare impressions, the sort of feelings one experiences in a dream when undergoing frightful experiences from which he is unable to free himself. To Bob it was as if he lay on a torture wrack, arms and legs pinioned, and head held in a vise. Try as he would to reach up a hand to free his head of the oppression it was impossible to do so. The stars seemed to whirl around him, each with the face of an Athensian, mocking him, while a red devil in a filmy cloud who seemed to bear a striking resemblance to the fallen Athensian leader hovered just above the tip of his nose, laughing at him.
All around the edges of his world—this world of pain of which he was the center—lay a thick cloud which his vision could not pierce. In it came and went the Athensian-faced stars.
Once he struggled back to full consciousness. His eyes opened and he was able to note his surroundings. Then he saw that he was bound to the saddle of his camel, lying forward, almost on his chest. His hands and feet were tied, and many lashings around his body prevented him from slipping off. He even was able to note that the lashings consisted of the rope lassoo with weighted ends with which he had planned to bring down an ostrich, supplemented by the coil of wire for aerial and ground, which had hung looped to his saddle.
On his head was his solar hat or sun helmet, at which he wondered dazedly. Evidently, the blow which had felled him had been broken by the helmet. Perhaps, even, it had fallen on the jutting rear brim, and thus had not crushed against his skull the little radio receiving set cunningly inserted in the crown so that to a casual glance it seemed merely a part of the helmet. If so——
But then consciousness failed, and Bob sank again into the nightmare of the wrack and the torture.
When again he was restored to consciousness, the rope and wire bindings holding him in the saddle had been loosed and strong hands were lifting him to the ground, which was no great distance away as the camel had been compelled to lie down.
As his feet touched the ground, Bob attempted to stand, but his legs buckled under him and he would have fallen were it not for the hands beneath his armpits. He was lowered to the ground, and lay there with eyes closed while those who had assisted him moved away. He could hear the soft swish of their moccasined feet in the sand.
Cautiously, when he believed himself alone, Bob opened his eyes and found himself staring up in the crown of his sun helmet, which had been placed on his face. Yes, the blow had not wrecked the little radio set, which he could see in the crown. At least, he could discern the panel on which the instruments were placed, and which formed the bottom of the set. The blow had fallen on the rear brim, which was crushed and splintered.
Bob still felt excruciating pain on the back of his head, but came to the conclusion that the softening of the blow had saved him from a crushed skull and that in a day or two he would be all right.
Through this hole in the brim, resting on the tip of his nose, he could see a portion of his surroundings. The light was fading. Evidently, twilight had come. Bob wondered at that, which meant he had been riding all, or at least the better part of, the day.
A halt had been called, and in the line of his vision Bob could see a fire just beginning to blaze, and the bare legs of men coming and going about it. There were no tents, and Bob’s first conclusion, namely that they had halted at an encampment of other Athensians, evidently was incorrect. The few figures, and the absence of such noises as would attend a large camp, were assurance that no additions had been made to the party.
Speculation as to what would be his fate took possession of Bob, as he again closed his eyes to ease the pain behind them. That he had been captured for a purpose was apparent. Otherwise, when he had put up his heroic fight, he would have been killed. Well, at least he was to be let live; for a while, anyhow. That was something. While there was life, he told himself, there was no need to despair.
Bob wondered what had become of Jack and Ali. Were they aware of his predicament? Had they seen him captured and carried away, and would Mr. Hampton set out to rescue him? Or was his fate unknown, and the outcome of his adventure dependant solely on his own exertions? Would Mr. Hampton give him up for lost and eventually carry out his plan to abandon the expedition and return to civilization?
All these questions and many more passed through Bob’s brain as he lay there on the ground, while the blood slowly worked its way through his cramped limbs and he felt every minute a return of strength and even noted a diminution of the pain in his head. He was thankful that, at least, he had not been incapacitated physically, that apparently his strength and the use of his body was left him. When the time came for a break for freedom, he told himself grimly, he’d show these Athensians.
At that moment, through the hole in the brim of his sun helmet, just as he again opened his eyes, he saw the legs of a man approaching. Then a hand grasped him by an arm and shook him, and the hat was lifted from his eyes. Bending over him was an Athensian, a sturdy, stockily built fellow, who jerked at his arm and indicated by signs that he was to rise to his feet.
Bob struggled to comply, pretending to greater weakness than really possessed him. He figured that if he appeared to be in a weaker state than was the case, his chances for escape would be increased.
The man passed an arm around Bob and placed one of Bob’s arms over his shoulders, and then walked him the few steps toward the fire. The other Athensians were seated about it, among them Bob noted with a grim reflection of satisfaction one with his face almost entirely obscured by a bandage. That must be the fellow who had felt the weight of his rifle, and had, in fact, been bowled from his saddle by it. To their rear, among a patch of stunted bush, were hobbled the horses. The leader, the one whom Bob had leaped upon in his jump from camelback, sat a little withdrawn from the others, leaning against a saddle.
Bob was led to him, and with a word in an unknown tongue the leader dismissed the Athensian who bowed profoundly and withdrew.
“Sit down,” commanded the leader, again employing French, and indicating a spot at his feet.
Bob complied. For several moments there was silence, while both young men studied each other. Bob’s first thought was that this Athensian was little older than himself, a man of perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four. Bob was twenty-one.
In appearance, the Athensian had a pleasing face. His eyes, bright blue, twinkled. The bold hawklike nose gave him an air of command, even of nobility. It was hard to judge from the seated figure, but Bob’s surmise was that the other was over the middle height, probably five feet nine or ten.
In his eyes was an expression of satisfaction as the Athensian ran his glance over Bob’s figure, and the first words uttered by either was his sudden remark, shot at Bob:
“Monsieur is very strong.”
Sounded as if he were going to be a good sport about that leap upon him, thought Bob, and he grinned.
“Did I muss you up much?” he asked in his best French, in reply. “Nothing personal, you know. I was fighting for my life.”
The Athensian nodded.
“Two ribs were broken when monsieur fell on me,” he said.
“Say, that’s pretty tough,” commiserated Bob. “Makes it hard for you when riding, doesn’t it?”
A shrug of the shoulders was the other’s sole reply, while he continued to stare at Bob.
“Monsieur is, perhaps, an athlete, yes?” he asked, with rising inflection. “He participates in college sports?”
Mighty chummy of him, thought Bob.
“Oh, a little,” he said.
“Monsieur is too modest,” the Athensian said suavely. “Doubtless, he is a great man among the youth of his land. Is it England? Monsieur is not French nor Spanish. Then he must be English. I have heard the English are fine sportsmen.”
“Huh,” blurted Bob. “I’m an American. In our country we have as good sports as in England.”
“An American?” queried the Athensian, in a tone of enlightenment. “Then how comes monsieur in this far country?”
Bob did not reply. What could he say? He was puzzled by the Athensian’s attitude? Asking him about sports first, and then demanding how he came to be here in the Sahara. Besides, how did this Athensian happen to be speaking French, when he lived in a hidden city unknown to the world? Bob decided it would not come amiss for him to ask a question or two by way of continuing the conversation. So he smiled at the other, and said:
“How do I happen to be here?” With a laugh: “Oh, just hunting ostriches when you bagged me. What was the meaning of that, anyway? You don’t look like a robber. And how is it you speak French so well?”
The Athensian bent a stern gaze on Bob. The twinkle died out of his eyes.
“Monsieur was not merely hunting ostriches,” he said. “Yes, perhaps, at the moment. But he came here to meet a scientific man who had blundered upon the secret of those mountains,ne c’est pas? Is it not so?” With a quick wave of his hand he indicated the Shaitun Mountains on the southern horizon, just dimly seen in the last of the fading twilight.
“Now,” continued the Athensian, “monsieur will be well advised to answer me truthfully. We do not want intruders in those mountains, whence I come. We are not ready yet to receive visitors. And monsieur came to pry into our privacy. Yet it was not for that he has been captured, but for his thews.”
“My what?” Bob stared open-mouthed, scarcely able to believe his ears.
“The strong men among the slaves were not satisfactory this year,” said the other cryptically. “Monsieur is a good fighter. Yes, he will fight well. He will be well cared-for and be given his chance to distinguish himself.”
Bob stared at the cynical, laughing face of the other.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
“Monsieur will learn all in good time,” replied the Athensian. “Now he shall eat, and afterwards he shall answer my questions about his companions.” He clapped his hands, and an Athensian guard approached. The leader indicated Bob was to be led away and fed. “Remember,” he called, “monsieur will answer truthfully, or——” He left the sentence unfinished. But Bob smelled the threat of torture, just the same.
Unlike Bob, Jack after leaving Ali took cautious observations from time to time to enable him to keep the ostrich herd in sight. He realized the possibility of being deflected from his course in passing behind the sand dunes, but by frequent halts when he would compel his camel to kneel and, retaining the long led rope so as to prevent the animal’s wandering, climb to the top of a sand dune, and lying there, swing his glasses on the distant birds, he managed to make a wide arc about the herd without going astray.
When a half hour had elapsed, he rose into sight as agreed and a moment later saw, through his glasses, Ali making for the ostrich herd. Then he swung his glasses again over the horizon in the direction where Bob was supposed to have taken post. But he was unable to see any sign of his comrade.
A somewhat higher mass of dunes far off the course and more distant caught his eye, and he entertained the fleeting thought that, perhaps, Bob in wandering behind the sand dunes had gotten mixed up among the distant hills. But he had little time for reflection because at that moment he saw Ali start off in pursuit of the ostrich nearest him who, seeing his approach, headed away fleetly into the desert.
Jack’s first impulse was to dash forward and join in the chase himself, but he remembered Ali’s caution and held his position. Ali’s camel was on a tangent to the flight of the ostrich, and Jack could see his companion’s intention was to head off the big bird and chase it toward him. In the meantime, the more distant members of the herd, a dozen great birds, had taken alarm and were galloping away on a course that lay midway between Ali and Jack, whom apparently they had now sighted.
What a picture it all made, thought Jack. For a while, he sat his camel, lost in admiration of the sight. The vast waving floor of the desert, with here and there low clumps of bush; the great birds, black-bodied, beautiful under the flood of golden, dazzling sunlight, fleeing fleetly in twenty-five foot bounds; apart from his fellows the one great ostrich, gradually drawing closer to Jack, with the ungainly camel humping along in the rear and to one side, continually turning the ostrich so he could not gain the open desert behind Jack’s camel.
In the midst of his absorption, Jack started. Was that a shot? He listened. But no repetition came. So faint had been the sound that, perhaps, his ears had deceived him. Certainly, if it were a shot it could come only from Bob, yet Bob was not in sight. And just as certainly as Bob would shoot, if he were lost, he would fire a whole volley. Jack listened with strained attention. Not a sound. He swept the whole northern horizon, in the direction Bob had taken, with his glasses.
What was that on the far sand dunes? On those slightly higher hills? A sudden, quick uptossing movement, and then nothing further. He gazed fixedly at the spot, but without reward.
A sudden shout from Ali recalled Jack to his surroundings. Great Scott, what was that! Yes, Ali’s camel had stumbled and pitched to its knees, and Ali had been thrown forward onto the sand. And the ostrich! What in the world was it doing?
“Lie down, Ali, lie down,” screamed Jack, remembering his father’s warning of what a man must do if attacked by an ostrich.
For the great bird which Ali had been pursuing had turned in wild fury and was dashing headlong for the fallen man, literally skimming the earth, seeming to touch it only at long intervals. Jack knew the ostrich cannot use its wings to fly, and employs them only to aid to pivot and make sharp turnings or to bring its body to a sudden halt. But the great bounds made by the creature gave it the semblance of flight.
Jack’s face went white. Ali’s camel had scrambled to its feet and was heading back across the desert toward the distant oasis. Ali lay still, outspread on his face. Was he knocked out by the fall, or had he adopted the customary attitude of hunters when attacked by an ostrich? Jack could not tell.
One more swoop the ostrich took, and then it folded its great legs beneath it and sat down on Ali’s body. Only the man’s feet and lower legs projected. The big bird’s body covered even his head, and Jack knew he must act quickly or Ali would be smothered.
He was less than a thousand yards distant and well within the range of his Winchester, but so nervous was Jack, his hands shook so much, that he decided to approach closer before venturing a shot.
As he moved up, the ostrich began to hiss. A strange hissing note it was, with the beak not opened and the air from the bird’s lungs swelling its throat and flowing over the vocal organs. Still it continued to maintain its position on Ali.
Now was the time. Jack knew it was up to him to save Ali’s life, and the thought exerted a steadying influence. He lifted his rifle, took careful aim, and pressed the trigger. He had aimed not at the body, for he feared that, unless struck in the heart, the ostrich would not be killed. Then it would writhe convulsively, and its movements would increase Ali’s danger. Instead, he aimed at the small head.
The next moment, he saw the head droop like the head of a flower broken from the stem but still hanging by a shred. Then the great bird fell over on its side, and twitched while its long legs kicked convulsively.
Ali rolled quickly away, turning over and over, instead of first regaining his feet. By the time Jack arrived, Ali was on his feet and composedly shaking sand from his burnoose and straightening his turban. The swarthy face with its gleaming black eyes and black mustache, was filled with gratitude as Jack approached.
“You saved my life,” said Ali. “I’ll not forget.”
They looked at the body of the great bird, which lay still. Jack experienced a revulsion of feeling. Why had they ever come out on this ostrich hunt, anyway? To kill so beautiful a thing seemed a crime. Ali looked up at him and said:
“We may as well take the plumes now.”
“Oh, I don’t want them,” said Jack. “Let’s find Bob.”
Ali smiled slightly. He could understand his companion’s distaste. As for him, inured to hardships, was he to be so shaken up by one that he neglected to pick a small fortune, a tidy sum, in ostrich plumes? Death of his life, no. He strode to the body of the ostrich and began methodically to pull out the barbs of the plumes.
In the meantime, Jack through his glasses scanned the horizon, searching for signs of Bob. Now that the danger to Ali was past, recollection of the fact that no sign of his comrade had yet appeared, flooded back on him. What could have become of Bob? Jack was filled with anxiety. Certainly, no matter whither he had strayed he would have given some sign ere this. Could his camel have thrown him? Did he lie stunned somewhere on the desert? That seemed the most likely possibility.
“Hurry, Ali,” he called, still sweeping his glance around the desert. “We must go and look for Bob.”
Ali completed his task, having picked the best of the plumes, and left the rest to fortune, stirred by the peremptoriness of Jack’s tone. As he walked nearer, Jack suddenly voiced a low exclamation.
“What it is?” Ali asked. “Do you see Mister Bob?”
“I thought I saw a man on horseback over there,” said Jack, pointing toward the northeast, where the ridge of higher sand dunes which earlier had caught his gaze, lying to the north of him, stretched eastward.
“A horseman?” Ali’s tone grew alert. “We have no horses here.”
“Now I can’t see any more,” said Jack. “Look here, what’ll we do? We’ve got to go and look for Bob. He’s strayed, that’s all there is to it.”
Rapidly he outlined to Ali his fears that Bob had strayed from his course and became enmeshed among the higher sand hills, perhaps had been pitched from his camel. Ali, whose glasses had been lost in his fall, scouted around until he recovered them beneath a bush. Then he, too, examined the sand dunes Jack indicated.
“That horse you saw,” Ali said presently. “I don’t like it.”
“What do you mean?” Jack demanded quickly. “Desert robbers?”
“Perhaps,” said Ali. “Although this is off the caravan routes and is not rich ground for robbers. Perhaps, the Athensians.”
“Oh, come now,” scoffed Jack. Nevertheless, he, too, experienced a sudden sense of fear.
“Well,” said Ali, “take me up behind you, and we’ll investigate. Mister Bob’s trail ought to be easy to follow.”
Obediently, Jack caused his camel to kneel and Ali scrambled up behind. Then, with its double load, Jack turned the beast’s head toward the point where the three earlier had separated. The indentations made in the sand by the pads of Bob’s camel were easy to follow, and in his anxiety Jack pushed his own animal ahead at a shuffling run. Ali perched precariously behind him had hard work holding on, but said nothing. He was as anxious as Jack.
In less than the half hour Bob had taken to reach his station, they arrived. Then the sorry story lay before them. To Ali’s desert-trained eyes, it was easy to read.
Both Ali and Jack flung themselves from the camel and went scouting around. Bob’s camel tracks, the hoof marks of horses, a broken piece out of the shield of Bob’s sun helmet, and the mass of zinc for a ground for his radio set, which had become detached from his camel’s saddle, all told what had occurred.
“I’ll bet old Bob put up a whale of a fight,” said Jack. “But why didn’t we hear any shots?” He explained about the one shot which he had heard.
“Whoever was here,” said Ali, gauging the situation correctly, “wanted to take Mister Bob prisoner, not to kill him.”
“But Bob had his Winchester,” objected Jack. “Why didn’t he use it? Either they closed in on him too fast, or else it became jammed.”
Ali nodded, but did not reply. He was engaged with other thoughts and in a moment gave Jack the result of his cogitations.
“A half hour for Mister Bob to arrive here, a half hour for us to arrive,” he said. “Not to speak of the time lost in our ostrich hunt. These men have more than an hour’s start of us. They are on horses, and eight or ten in number. We have a camel, which is slower, and we are only two. It would be folly to pursue.”
“Follow or not,” said Jack hotly, “I’ll not let old Bob be carried off without doing my——”
Ali held up a hand and interrupted.
“It will be a long chase,” he said. “We must organize for it. Let us return to the oasis. There are ten of us left. Armed, provisioned, mounted on our camels who have had a long rest, we can return and pick up the trail before nightfall. Camels need less rest than horses. Even though they are slower, by pushing them we may yet cut off these others, if——”
He gestured toward the distant Shaitun Mountains. Jack nodded understandingly.
“You mean if they are Athensians and are heading home?” said Jack. “Well, you are right, Ali. I want to start right away, but your way is better. Come on, mount, and we’ll get back to the oasis as fast as a camel ever made it.”
Some distance from the oasis, Mr. Hampton and Frank were encountered, riding to meet them.
“Where’s Bob?” called Frank, in an anxious tone. He and the big fellow were very close. Frank’s mother had died when he was a baby, and his father, business partner of Bob Temple’s father, had followed her a few years later. Ever since, the orphaned Frank had made his home with the Temples, and he was engaged to Bob’s sister, Della.
To Frank’s anxious inquiry, Mr. Hampton added:
“When Ali’s camel came in alone we knew something had happened and set out to meet you at once.”
“Well, Dad, something has happened all right,” said Jack, dejectedly. “Or rather it’s all wrong. Bob has been captured. We don’t know how.”
Thereupon, while they all made their way back to the oasis, he proceeded to explain events as they had occurred so far as he knew them. What actually had happened in Bob’s case, of course, was not known. But as our readers know, Jack and Ali had guessed at the truth.
By the time the account was concluded, they had arrived at the encampment and dismounted. Mr. Hampton looked very grave and care-worn. The deaths of the Professor and Ben Hassim already had weighted him down. Now the capture of Bob, whom he loved as if he were a son, filled him with grief. A malignant, unseen power seemed pursuing this expedition, which had started out peacefully intent only on establishing amicable relations with the mysterious dwellers of the Shaitun Mountains and on adding to the sum of the world’s useful knowledge. Truly, he thought, gazing out through the trees of the oasis across the vast reaches of the desert toward the mountains on the far northern horizon, truly, they were well named the mountains of Satan.
Had he had any premonition of the reception with which they would meet at the hands of the Athensians, Mr. Hampton never would have financed nor launched the expedition. But he realized the futility of vain regrets. Now was not the time to devote to such thoughts. One thing must be done, one thing alone, and done at once; that was, to start swift pursuit for the purpose of rescuing Bob.
Turning to the boys, he bade them pack up at once the few things absolutely necessary, but not to incommode themselves with articles which could be dispensed with. As they leaped to obey, he ordered Ali to summon the Arabs. The men who already had received from Ali a brief account of what had occurred on the ostrich hunt, quickly assembled. Their swarthy determined faces formed a group at which Mr. Hampton looked with approval. Picked men all, he could not ask for better support at his back. Nevertheless, he felt it was only fair that they should be appraised fully of the dangers attendant upon the proposed expedition, and should be allowed to exercise their own choice as to whether to accompany him or not.
“Ali,” he said, when all the men were assembled, “I want you to tell these men that I am going to start at once in pursuit of the band which has taken Bob prisoner. If we can cut the fugitives off before they reach the Shaitun Mountains or catch up with greater numbers, as it is possible another band awaits them, we stand a good chance of rescuing Bob. But, as I say, it is quite possible this small band of ten men was merely an offshoot of a larger band. In that case, the others may turn on us and we could not outrun them and would have to make a fight for it. Against any such band as that which swept the oasis the night the Professor was killed, we would stand little chance for our lives. Therefore, I think it only right that the men should make their own choice as to whether they go with me or await my return here. If none go, I’ll still make the attempt at rescue with my son and Mr. Frank.”
Ali listened impassively, and on the conclusion of Mr. Hampton’s little speech turned to his comrades whom he addressed briefly. Mr. Hampton watched their faces as Ali was speaking. What he saw pleased him mightily. A sharp fierce cry, coming as if from one throat, issued from the group at the conclusion of Ali’s words. He turned to Mr. Hampton with a satisfied smile.
“They all go,” he said simply.
“Good,” said Mr. Hampton, not a little affected. “Good.”
“They say Mr. Bob is worth dying for,” added Ali. “Every man loves him. If there is a fight and they die, well, you know, sir, Paradise awaits the Arab who falls in battle.”
Mr. Hampton nodded, unable to trust himself to speak for a moment, as he thought of Bob and the devotion of these Arabs to him. Then when he found his voice he added huskily:
“If any man dies, I’ll provide for his family, Ali, if he has a family. And to all I’ll give double wages for the entire trip should we get safely back to civilization. Tell them that, please. Also, I’ll give each man right now, or as soon as I can write it, an order on the Cairo bankers for 25 pounds (about $1,250). Thus, if I fall, the men still will be provided for.”
Ali repeated Mr. Hampton’s words, and a hum of approval rose from the half dozen Arabs. The sum mentioned was more than any one of them ever dreamed of possessing at one time, and would represent affluence, indeed.
While the Arabs, under Ali’s direction, sorted out the equipment to be taken and baled up the remainder to be left at the oasis in charge of old Allola, Mr. Hampton retired to his tent to write the necessary bank drafts. Also, he drew up a document for his Cairo bankers, incorporating the provisions of his pledge to the Arabs, which he intended to leave with Allola, with explicit instructions that it should be sent out of the desert by the first trustworthy rider who should appear at the oasis.
To Allola, he made a handsome present in money. As for the old woman’s welfare, she had the sheep and goats, the garden patches, the fig trees, and would not suffer for sustenance, should they fail to return. Soon or later some Bedouins of the desert would arrive at the oasis, moreover. And, as, despite her age, the old woman was spry and could get about easily, she had little to fear.
Disposition of the wounded Athensian puzzled Mr. Hampton. All day the man had been tossing and muttering at a great rate, and Mr. Hampton believed that the fever was leaving him and that in another day or two he would recover consciousness and could be questioned. Even as he wrote, he was conscious of the other man muttering on the divan behind him.
Going to the door, Mr. Hampton called Allola to him and into her care gave the papers he had drawn with explicit order for their disposal, together with a sum of money not only for herself but for the messenger she should select. Of the old woman’s honesty and willingness to carry out his orders, he had no doubt whatsoever, as gratitude for her rescue made her slave-like in devotion.
He noted the Arabs loading the camels lightly, and storing the balance of their equipment in one of the tents. With approval he saw Frank and Jack putting the Professor’s radio sending apparatus, in its shallow trunk, on one of the camels. There was always the possibility that it would come in useful, and Frank had finished restoring it to order only that morning.
Then while he still talked to Allola Mr. Hampton heard a sharp cry from the tent, and whirled around. It had come from the wounded Athensian. With Allola at his heels, Mr. Hampton hurried to the other man’s side and bent down to look at him. He gave an exclamation of surprise. The man’s eyes regarded him in puzzled bewilderment, filled with the light of returning reason. Putting a hand on his forehead, Mr. Hampton noted it was cool and moist, indicating the last of the fever had fled.
The other continued to stare at him, unbelievingly, and Mr. Hampton decided to see if his prisoner really had been restored to his senses.
“Do you know where you are?” he asked, slowly, in the Athensian words taught him by Professor Souchard.
Almost it seemed as if fear leaped into the man’s eyes. Certainly they were filled with amazement.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“I am a stranger who was passing by and saved you when otherwise you would have died,” said Mr. Hampton.
“You do not speak my tongue well,” replied the other slowly. “How is it you speak it at all?”
“That explanation can wait,” said Mr. Hampton. “In the meantime, I have a question or two to ask, which I hope you will be good enough to answer. Excuse me, first.”
With a whispered injunction to Allola to stay or watch, he hurried out of the tent and called Jack, Frank and Ali to him. Briefly, he explained the prisoner was conscious, and that they must delay a few minutes in order that he might be questioned. It was possible that from him some information of great value might be obtained.
Returning, Mr. Hampton found Allola giving the Athensian a drink from the canvas water jar which always was kept hanging in the draught at the doorway so that evaporation kept the water cool. He was turning over in his mind the possibilities, and wondering which of the many questions crowding for answer he should put. His small stock of Athensian words, moreover, complicated the task. But the other, palpably refreshed and strengthened by his drink, solved a portion of his problem by addressing him in French as he approached.
“Monsieur, doubtless speaks French,” said the Athensian cooly. “This knowledge of my language is deplorable. Let us speak therefore in French.”
“Agreed,” said Mr. Hampton. “Only, let me say that your surprise at my partial knowledge of your language was no greater than mine at hearing such excellent French from your lips.”
“How long have I lain here?” asked the man abruptly.
“Ten days,” said Mr. Hampton.
“And you have cared for me all that time? I must have been very ill.”
“I have cared for you,” said Mr. Hampton gravely. “And you were ill, very ill, you came close to death.”
“Ah,” muttered the Athensian, his eyelids fluttering shut. They remained so a moment, then snapped open with the effect of a camera shutter’s quick flicker. Mr. Hampton was surprised at the vigor of the other’s glance. “And has no attempt been made by others to come and get me?”
“None,” said Mr. Hampton.
“Ah,” said the man once more. Again his eyes closed. Again they opened, and this time they seemed filled with ferocity.
“Would monsieur say I had been left as if it were believed I was dead?” he demanded.
What all this was leading to Mr. Hampton could not surmise, but he was content to bide his time a moment longer, pretty well convinced by now that the other was leading up to some denouncement.
“Yes,” he stated judicially, “I would say that whoever saw you would have considered you dead. I myself believed so when we discovered you. It was only after various tests that we were convinced you still lived, and since then I have had a struggle to bring you back to sanity and consciousness.”
“I suspected it,” said the man, grimly. “Let me think a moment monsieur.” Again he closed his eyes. For not only one but several minutes he continued to lie with his eyes closed, but that he not only was awake but thinking tumultuous thoughts was apparent to Mr. Hampton from the flush that mantled the man’s cheeks and from the labored rise and fall of his chest.
“Monsieur,” said the man, snapping his eyes open again, “you have been good to me. I can see that. I am not ungrateful. My people attempted to kill me. They left me for dead. I am convinced of it. Now I shall foreswear them. I shall be your friend, as I was the friend of Professor Souchard.”
It was Mr. Hampton’s turn to exhibit surprise.
“Professor Souchard’s friend?” he queried in amazement.
“Another drink I beg you, monsieur,” pleaded the Athensian. Mr. Hampton obediently poured water from the jar into the cup, and set the latter to his lips. “Ah,” said the Athensian, satisfiedly, “that is delicious. Already I feel myself growing much stronger.”
“And now,” said Mr. Hampton, “my time presses. Some of your people have captured my son,” he added, to avoid needless explanation of Bob’s identity. “And I was about to set out in pursuit and attempt his rescue when you became conscious.”
“Tsst, tsst,” clucked the other, sympathetically. “That is bad.”
“A big fine fellow, six feet tall, an athlete,” said Mr. Hampton, thinking of Bob’s fine appearance. “Well, I imagine he mussed up a number before they took him.”
“An athlete?” queried the other, alertly. “And they did not shoot but took him prisoner. Monsieur, that is very bad, very bad, indeed.”
“Why, what do you mean?”