The Englishman looked serious.
"They can—if I succeed in keeping that devil, Abu-Rashid, away from them. He, you know, has learned, somehow, of our quest. And he, as full of superstition as a hound dog is of fleas, has set himself to frustrate our plans, simply because he and the rest of the Bedouins believe some deity threw it there."
For a time the men smoked in silence. Dean spoke first: "When did you last see Abu-Rashid?"
Hunt moved uneasily.
"Yesterday, at dusk, when you and the blacks were beating up a water-hole. He came tearing into camp on a camel and as good as ordered me to go back" (Hunt bit his pipe-stem savagely) "as good as told me to quit—now—after all the grilling agony of the past months' Now, when success is sure—"
He broke off abruptly and sprang to his feet.
"Look!" he cried excitedly. "Unless it is a mirage, I see a train of camels creeping over the sand, there, this side of the well of Abul-Ala!"
Dean raised his immense bulk from the sand, joined his companion and looked in the direction indicated.
"It's no mirage," he said tersely. "Camels, a lot of 'em."
"Is it Abu-Rashid?" Hunt grated. Dean ducked beneath the tent-flap, reappearing almost instantly with a pair of field glasses in hand. Hurriedly adjusting them, he swept the plain.
"Yes," he answered, after a brief survey; "it's the sheik himself, and about fifty henchmen."
The camels, amid a yellow dust cloud, drew nearer; soon, Abu-Rashid at the head of the train, mounted upon a dromedary, could be distinguished easily by the naked eye.
Hunt's present perilous quest into the interior of Arabia had been actuated by the story of the wandering Bedouin, Al-Abu. The lucid though fanciful and highly embellished tale of the meteorite had captured the geologist's interest. During the World War he, Hunt, had carried arms in his country's defense. But at the close of the struggle he had set out, hoping, in the interest of science, to locate the stone.
With arms folded across his chest, eyes piercingly intent upon the bearded Bedouins, Hunt stood watching their approach.
Shortly the soft thud of camels' feet came to the waiting men. As the blacks caught sight of the Arabs they sprang up, chattering like monkeys, their apathy gone, action superseding the listlessness of the moment before.
Abu-Rashid and his cortège swept up, circled the camp and, with, murderous spears upraised, came to a dramatic stop.
But the grandstand play of the desert men failed to intimidate either Hunt or Dean. The Englishman stood at attention, his gray eye vigilant for the treachery he expected.
Apparently the Bedouins' visit was one of peace. With a winning smile wreathing his clean-cut lips, only half hidden by the dense, black beard, the sheik spoke. "The blessing of Allah be upon thee and all who dwell in thy tents," he said in a musical, softly modulated voice.
Hunt and Dean bowed.
"The blessing of Allah be upon thee and all who dwell in thy tents," responded the Englishman. "Will the great one of Arabia honor my poor abode by alighting and partaking of my humble fare?"
Abu-Rashid vaulted from the back of the huge, evil-eyed beast and threw his spear upon the sand; his henchmen, like well-trained soldiers, followed his example. Hunt gave a crisp order to a black, who scuttled off to do his master's bidding.
"The visit of the great one of Arabia is, indeed, an honor," began Hunt. "I am overwhelmed at his
