“It seems that three stood against them this morning, and worked some damage, my uncle, but it is true those three are of a different race from the Abati,” she added with bitter sarcasm.  Then she turned to those behind her and cried:  “Who of my captains and Council will accompany me, if I who am but a woman dare to advance on Harmac?”

Now here and there a voice cried, “I will,” or some gorgeously dressed person stepped forward in a hesitating way, and that was all.

“You see, men of the West!” said Maqueda after a little pause, addressing us three.  “I thank you for the great deeds that you have done and for your counsel.  But I cannot take it because my people are not—­warlike,” and she covered her face with her hands.

Now there arose a great tumult among her followers, who all began to talk at once.  Joshua in particular drew a large sword and waved it, shouting out a recital of the desperate actions of his youth and the names of Fung chieftains whom he alleged he had killed in single combat.

“Told you that fat cur was a first-class trumpeter,” said Orme languidly, while the Sergeant ejaculated in tones of deep disgust: 

“Good Lord! what a set.  Why, Doctor, they ain’t fit to savage a referee in a London football ground.  Pharaoh there in his basket (where he was barking loudly) would make the whole lot run, and if he was out—­oh my!  Now, then, you porpoise”—­this he addressed to Joshua, who was flourishing his sword unpleasantly near—­“put your pasteboard up, won’t you, or I’ll knock your fat head off,” whereon the Prince, who, if he did not understand Quick’s words, at any rate caught their meaning wonderfully well, did as he was told, and fell back.

Just then, indeed, there was a general movement up the pass, in the wide mouth of which all this scene took place, for suddenly three Fung chieftains appeared galloping toward us, one of whom was veiled with a napkin in which were cut eyeholes.  So universal was this retreat, in fact, that we three on our camels, and the Child of Kings on her beautiful mare, found ourselves left alone.

“An embassy,” said Maqueda, scanning the advancing horsemen, who carried with them a white flag tied to the blade of a spear.  “Physician, will you and your friends come with me and speak to these messengers?” And without even waiting for an answer, she rode forward fifty yards or so on to the plain, and there reined up and halted till we could bring our camels round and join her.  As we did so, the three Fung, splendid-looking, black-faced fellows, arrived at a furious gallop, their lances pointed at us.

“Stand still, friends,” said Maqueda; “they mean no harm.”

As the words passed her lips, the Fung pulled the horses to their haunches, Arab-fashion, lifted spears and saluted.  Then their leader—­not the veiled man, but another—­spoke in a dialect that I, who had spent so many years among the savages of the desert, understood well enough, especially as the base of it was Arabic.