blaze of passion.  Then with an impatient, snarling cry, he slid a knife from his long loose sleeve and struck upwards under the whirling arm.  Brown sat down at the blow and began to cough—­to cough as a man coughs who has choked at dinner, furiously, ceaselessly, spasm after spasm.  Then the angry red cheeks turned to a mottled pallor, there were liquid sounds in his throat, and, clapping his hand to his mouth, he rolled over on to his side.  The negro, with a brutal grunt of contempt, slid his knife up his sleeve once more, while the Colonel, frantic with impotent anger, was seized by the bystanders, and dragged, raving with fury, back to his forlorn party.  His hands were lashed with a camel-halter, and he lay at last, in bitter silence, beside the delirious Nonconformist.

So Headingly was gone, and Cecil Brown was gone, and their haggard eyes were turned from one pale face to another, to know which they should lose next of that frieze of light-hearted riders who had stood out so clearly against the blue morning sky, when viewed from the deck-chairs of the Korosko.  Two gone out of ten, and a third out of his mind.  The pleasure trip was drawing to its climax.

Fardet, the Frenchman, was sitting alone with his chin resting upon his hands, and his elbows upon his knees, staring miserably out over the desert, when Belmont saw him start suddenly and prick up his head like a dog who hears a strange step.  Then, with clenched fingers, he bent his face forward and stared fixedly towards the black eastern hills through which they had passed.  Belmont followed his gaze, and, yes-yes—­there was something moving there!  He saw the twinkle of metal, and the sudden gleam and flutter of some white garment.  A Dervish vedette upon the flank turned his camel twice round as a danger signal, and discharged his rifle in the air.  The echo of the crack had hardly died away before they were all in their saddles, Arabs and negroes.  Another instant, and the camels were on their feet and moving slowly towards the point of alarm.  Several armed men surrounded the prisoners, slipping cartridges into their Remingtons as a hint to them to remain still.

“By Heaven, they are men on camels!” cried Cochrane, his troubles all forgotten as he strained his eyes to catch sight of these new-comers.  “I do believe that it is our own people.”  In the confusion he had tugged his hands free from the halter which bound them.

“They’ve been smarter than I gave them credit for,” said Belmont, his eyes shining from under his thick brows.  “They are here a long two hours before we could have reasonably expected them.  Hurrah, Monsieur Fardet, ca va bien, n’est ce pas?”

“Hurrah, hurrah! merveilleusement bien!  Vivent les Anglais!  Vivent les Anglais!” yelled the excited Frenchman, as the head of a column of camelry began to wind out from among the rocks.