green sward under the palm-tree, these seven
forlorn representatives of an alien creed, and in the midst of them sat
the fat little preacher, his one eye dancing from face to face as he
expounded the principles of his newer, cruder, and more earnest faith.
They listened attentively and nodded their heads as Mansoor translated
the exhortation, and with each sign of their acquiescence the Moolah
became more amiable in his manner and more affectionate in his speech.

"For why should you die, my sweet lambs, when all that is asked of you
is that you should set aside that which will carry you to everlasting
Gehenna, and accept the law of Allah as written by His prophet, which
will assuredly bring you unimaginable joys, as is promised in the Book
of the Camel? For what says the chosen one?"--and he broke away into
one of those dogmatic texts which pass in every creed as an argument.
"Besides, is it not clear that God is with us, since from the beginning,
when we had but sticks against the rifles of the Turks, victory has
always been with us? Have we not taken El Obeid, and taken Khartoum, and
destroyed Hicks and slain Gordon, and prevailed against every one who
has come against us? How, then, can it be said that the blessing of
Allah does not rest upon us?"

The Colonel had been looking about him during the long exhortation of
the Moolah, and he had observed that the Dervishes were cleaning their
guns, counting their cartridges, and making all the preparations of men
who expected that they might soon be called upon to fight. The two Emirs
were conferring together with grave faces, and the leader of the patrol
pointed, as he spoke to them, in the direction of Egypt. It was evident
that there was at least a chance of a rescue if they could only keep
things going for a few more hours. The camels were not recovered yet
from their long march, and the pursuers, if they were indeed close
behind, were almost certain to overtake them.

"For God's sake, Fardet, try and keep him in play," said he. "I believe
we have a chance if we can only keep the ball rolling for another hour
or so."

But a Frenchman's wounded dignity is not so easily appeased. Monsieur
Fardet sat moodily with his back against the palm-tree, and his black
brows drawn down. He said nothing, but he still pulled at his thick,
strong moustache.

"Come on, Fardet! We depend upon you," said Belmont.

"Let Colonel Cochrane do it," the Frenchman answered, snappishly. "