They started off gaily to where the caravan had come to a standstill.  They had scarcely traversed a hundred yards, however, before the Arab who was leading Lenora’s horse came to a sudden standstill.  He pointed with his arm and commenced to talk in an excited fashion to his two companions.  From across the desert, facing them, came a little company of horsemen, galloping fast and with the sunlight flashing upon their rifles.

“The Mongars!” the Arab cried, pointing wildly.  “They attack the caravan!”

The three Arabs talked together for a moment in an excited fashion.  Then, without excuse or warning, they swung the two women to the ground, leapt on their horses, and, turning northwards, galloped away.  Already the crack of the rifles and little puffs of white smoke showed them where the Mongars, advancing cautiously, were commencing their attack.  The Professor looked on anxiously.

“I am not at all sure,” he said in an undertone to Quest, “about our position with the Mongars.  Craig has a peculiar hold upon them, but as a rule they hate white men, and their blood will be up....  See! the fight is all over.  Those fellows were no match for the Mongars.  Most of them have fled and left the caravan.”

The fight was indeed over.  Four of the Mongars had galloped away in pursuit of the Arabs who had been the temporary escort of Quest and his companions.  They passed about a hundred yards away, waving their arms and shouting furiously.  One of them even fired a shot, which missed Quest by only a few inches.

“They say they are coming back,” the Professor muttered.  “Who’s this?  It’s the Chief and—­”

“Our search is over, at any rate,” Quest interrupted.  “It’s Craig!”

They came galloping up, Craig in white linen clothes and an Arab cloak; the Chief by his side—­a fine, upright man with long grey beard; behind, three Mongars, their rifles already to their shoulders.  The Chief wheeled up his horse as he came within twenty paces of the little party.

“White!  English!” he shouted.  “Why do you seek death here?”

He waited for no reply but turned to his men.  Three of them dashed forward, their rifles, which were fitted with an odd sort of bayonet, drawn back for the plunge.  Quest, snatching his field-glasses from his shoulders, swung them by the strap above his head, and brought them down upon the head of his assailant.  The man reeled and his rifle fell from his hand.  Quest picked it up, and stood on guard.  The other two Mongars swung round towards him, raising their rifles to their shoulders.  Quest held Lenora to him.  It seemed as though their last second had come.  Suddenly Craig, who had been a little in the rear, galloped, shouting, into the line of fire.

“Stop!” he ordered.  “Chief, these people are my friends.  Chief, the word!”

The Chief raised his arm promptly.  The men lowered their rifles, and Craig galloped back to his host’s side.  The Chief listened to him, nodding gravely.  Presently he rode up to the little party.  He saluted the Professor and talked to him in his own language.  The Professor turned to the others.