CHAPTER XXVI.

The first rays of the sun, as Abou had said, unfolded to view, at a distance of about fifteen hundred yards, the Bedouin encampment. It consisted of some thirty tents, pitched in a semi-circle in front of the spur of the mountain range of El-Hejaz. A small clump of palms, whose tops were just gilded by the beams of the rising sun, could be discerned on the right in the midst of a tolerably fresh patch of verdure, where strayed at liberty a score of horses and camels. Complete quiet appeared to reign throughout the encampment, which had not yet awoke to life and movement.

"To horse again!" exclaimed M. Périères, who was in a state of great excitement. "In five minutes we can reach these tents, we can take their occupants by surprise, and if our friends are there we will rescue them."

"Such an unexpected inroad as that," observed the interpreter Omar, "would be looked upon as an attack. The Bedouins would defend themselves, and a conflict, which we must endeavour to avoid, would inevitably result. Would it not be wiser to take an hour's rest? Both we and our horses need it sorely."

"It is all very well for you," said M. Delange, quickly, "but do you think that we could rest quietly in this state of suspense and anxiety about our friends? It is impossible. Our goal is too near at hand for us not to try, at all events, to reach it. Besides, an hour's rest, so far from being of service to us or our horses, would only make us feel our fatigue all the more. I agree with Périères; let us make for the tents, after giving notice of our presence, if you think that act of prudence indispensable."

Omar and Ali exchanged glances. They were by no means at their ease with regard to the words they had just heard, and still less so with the manner in which, they had been spoken. The two Europeans, over-excited by a sleepless night and their hurried ride, did not appear possessed of their usual coolness; they were acted upon by their nervous system instead of by their reason. The state of mind in which they were might easily be productive of disaster, for the Arabs, like all men of action, can only be intimidated by calmness and cool resolution.

But the interpreters, seeing that any further remonstrance or opposition would only serve to increase the irritation of MM. Périères and Delange, thought it better to give way.

"How," said Ali, "are we to announce our presence to these people?"

"By firing a shot or two in the air," said M. Delange. "That is the way you present yourselves in the desert, is it not?"

"Do not let us waste our powder on the empty air," observed the second interpreter. "We may want it."

"Very well, then; the Bedouin, who has brought us here, can go on a little way in advance, enter the encampment of his friends, and awake them with the news of our presence amongst them."

Abou-Zamil was summoned, and informed of what was expected from him.

"Not for ten camels," was his response, "would I do what you ask me. If they see me, my friends will accuse me at once of having disclosed to you their place of retreat, and they will revenge themselves by killing me. I have already told you that I have fulfilled my compact— count no more on me."

"To horse, then!" cried M. Périères. "We can on our way determine what to do."

The whole body started off at once in the direction of the camp, where some movement was now visible. Several men appeared at the doors of the tents, and some women were seen hastening towards the patch of grass where the animals were feeding.

When about a hundred yards from the nearest tent, the two interpreters, at an order from M. Delange, fired three shots in the air and went on in front, as their flowing bûrnus would cause less alarm to the Bedouins than the costumes of the Europeans—the tribe might even take them for friends. At the same time, at the parting suggestion of Araou-Zamil, one of the three sailors left his companions, rode rapidly round the encampment, and posted himself at the entrance of the narrow defile leading to the mountains. The Bedouin, who thus gave one more proof of his good faith, had explained to the interpreters that if M. de Morin and Joseph were still prisoners and alive, their captors might try to escape with them to the mountains on the first symptom of an attack. The horseman so detached and placed on guard was ordered to appeal for assistance by firing off his gun, in case any of the Bedouins should attempt to force a passage into the defile.

A score of the Nomads and twice as many women and children had surrounded the interpreters by the time that the rest of the band joined them.

"Where is your chief?" asked M. Périères, in a peremptory tone, making his horse prance so as to prevent the people from crowding in upon him.

A man of about thirty stepped forward, spare and undersized, with thin lips, piercing eyes, a short and spare beard, and a very swarthy complexion. Everything about him bespoke a dogged determination and unflinching audacity, coupled with cunning and duplicity.

"What do you want?" said he. "And, first of all, do you come as a friend or an enemy?"

"As you please," said M. Périères. "Take your choice."

This reply, literally translated, and the haughty look of M. Périères produced a certain impression upon the chief and the men of his following. To dare to speak thus proudly, and to hesitate to accept the friendship apparently offered to them, the Europeans must be conscious of their superiority. Several of the Bedouins scanned the horizon to see if a second troop was following the first.

"Again I ask, what do you want?" said the chief, in a calm voice.

"I desire," replied M. Périères, "that two of my fellow countrymen, detained as prisoners in your camp, may be at once released."

"No one of your fellow countrymen is in our midst. What makes you suppose that they are here?"

"At Djiddah yesterday, at the third hour of the day, men belonging to your tribe made prisoner one of my servants, and soon afterwards also a friend of mine, who followed in pursuit of them. Where is my friend, and where is my servant?"

"I know not. Why do you accuse the men of my tribe of this abduction?"

"Because since yesterday I have followed on the track of the spoilers, and it has led me here."

"You are mistaken. We are not yet in the open desert, and the tracks of more than one caravan can be seen in the sand, from the sea to the mountain."

"I am not mistaken, I tell you; the tracks are yet fresh. You can see them a few paces hence. They show that five camels and a horse have passed this way, and you will not persuade me that another caravan, of precisely the same description, has crossed this plain."

The chief made no reply, and all the men in the encampment, by this time armed, closed up to him, forming, a group of about thirty individuals, supported by a regular mob of women and children. So long as their chief was silent, these people gesticulated defiantly at the Europeans, and, what was more dangerous, came near enough to touch them.

M. Périères and M. Delange began to comprehend the danger they were incurring. The firmness of their attitude had, for an instant, intimidated the Bedouins, but, in the end, it exasperated them, and, as no other caravan appeared on the horizon to give them food for reflection, their anger increased every moment.

But, with the consciousness of danger, and still more with the knowledge of the responsibility which devolved upon them, M. Périères had recovered his wonted coolness. He was now, in reality, the man described one evening by Madame de Guéran in a few words—firm, courageous, intrepid as M. de Morin, without his imprudence. He was, so to speak, transformed in a second; his voice no longer had the same tone, his very look was changed. The two Arabs in his train saw this resolution at once. They felt that they were commanded by one of those leaders whom soldiers love to obey.

M. Périères, without turning his head or losing sight of his adversaries, issued his orders to the escort—

"When I raise my hand," he said, "cover these people with your rifles, but do not fire until I give the word."

The shouts and threats continued.

"Tell your women and children to withdraw," said M. Périères, addressing the chief.

The chief did not condescend to reply.

The European raised his hand.

M. Delange, his two interpreters, and his two sailors unslung their rifles from their saddles and brought them up to their shoulders.

The women and children at once fled, with cries of terror, in all directions. But, at the same time the Nomads cocked their carbines.

M. Périères once more addressed the chief.

"If your men," he said, "do not at once lower their pieces, I shall order mine to fire, and you may rest assured that though we are fewer in number, we are the stronger."

The chief appeared to reflect, and, addressing the Frenchman, said—

"For the last time, what do you want? I repeat that your friends are not here."

"What has become of them?"

"Well, then—they attacked my men, who killed them."

"Show me their dead bodies, if that be so."

"Go back along the way by which you came, and you will find them stretched on the sand."

"You lie!" exclaimed M. Périères. "You always try to conceal your crimes, and you would not have left your victims on the road."

"What do you want to do?" asked the chief.

"I want to visit all the tents in your encampment."

"Never! Unbelievers do not enter our dwelling-places."

"We will see about that!" exclaimed the Frenchman, and, turning to his followers, he cried out, "Forward!"

The struggle had commenced—the exasperation of the Bedouins was at its height, and the determination of the Europeans was unyielding.

Suddenly, in the distance, behind the tents and from the entrance of the defile, a shot was heard. It came from the solitary sentinel, who gave the preconcerted signal. Were M. de Morin and Joseph still alive, and were they being hurried off into the mountains?