but now, under the glare of the mid-day sun, with those faces
gathered round them, it appeared rather to add a grotesque horror to
the scene. The dragoman salaamed like some ungainly, automatic doll, and
then, as the chief rasped out a curt word or two, he fell suddenly upon
his face, rubbing his forehead into the sand, and flapping upon it with
his hands.

[Illustration: Fell suddenly upon his face p97]

"What's that, Cochrane?" asked Belmont. "Why is he making an exhibition
of himself?"

"As far as I can understand, it is all up with us," the Colonel
answered.

"But this is absurd," cried the Frenchman, excitedly; "why should these
people wish any harm to me? I have never injured them. On the other
hand, I have always been their friend. If I could but speak to them, I
would make them comprehend. Hola, dragoman, Mansoor!"

The excited gestures of Monsieur Fardet drew the sinister eyes of the
Baggara chief upon him. Again he asked a curt question, and Mansoor,
kneeling in front of him, answered it.

"Tell him that I am a Frenchman, dragoman. Tell him that I am a friend
of the Khalifa. Tell him that my countrymen have never had any quarrel
with him, but that his enemies are also ours."

"The chief asks what religion you call your own," said Mansoor. "The
Khalifa, he says, has no necessity for any friendship from those who are
infidels and unbelievers."

"Tell him that in France we look upon all religions as good."

"The chief says that none but a blaspheming dog and the son of a dog
would say that all religions are one as good as the other. He says that
if you are indeed the friend of the Khalifa, you will accept the Koran
and become a true believer upon the spot. If you will do so, he will
promise on his side to send you alive to Khartoum."

"And if not?"

"You will fare in the same way as the others."

"Then you may make my compliments to monsieur the chief, and tell him
that it is not the custom for Frenchmen to change their religion under
compulsion."

The chief said a few words, and then turned to consult with a short,
sturdy Arab at his elbow.

"He says, Monsieur Fardet," said the dragoman, "that if you speak again
he will make a trough out of you for the dogs to feed from. Say nothing
to anger him, sir, for he is now talking what is to be done with us."

"Who is he?" asked the Colonel.

"It is Ali Wad Ibrahim, the same who raided last year, and killed all of
the Nubian village."

"I've hear