gns on him, and he, therefore, cheerfully obeyed the command of
his guides to dismount as soon as they had unloosed his bonds. He was
led into a tent much larger than the others, the interior of which was
fitted up neatly, even elegantly. Gold embroidered cushions, woven
carpets and gold plated censors would have indicated elsewhere the wealth
and respectability of their owner; but here they were plainly the fruits
of robbery. On one of the cushions sat a little old man of repulsive
appearance. His skin was tanned and shiny, and a disagreeable
expression of Turkish slyness lurked about his eyes and mouth. Although
this man attempted to appear dignified, it did not take Mustapha long
to decide that this tent had not been furnished so richly for him,
while the conversation of his guards seemed to confirm his observation.

"Where is the Strong One?" they inquired of the little old man.

"On the chase," answered he. "But he bade me fill his place while he
was gone."

"He didn't display much sense, then," replied one of the robbers, "as
it ought to be decided at once whether this dog shall die or be held
for ransom, and the Strong One could decide that much better than you."

The old man arose with an assumption of dignity, and reached out as if
to grasp his opponent's ear, or to revenge himself by a blow; but when
he saw that his effort was fruitless, he began to curse and swear. Nor
did the others remain long in his debt, but replied in kind, until the
tent resounded with their quarrel.

All at once the door of the tent was opened, and a tall, stately man,
young and handsome as a Persian prince, entered. His clothes and
weapons were plain and simple, with the exception of a richly jeweled
dagger and a gleaming sword; but his steady eye and whole appearance
commanded attention, without inspiring distrust.

"Who is it that dares to make such a disturbance in my tent?" demanded
he of the frightened participants.

For a little time there was deep silence; until finally,
one of the men who had brought Mustapha in told him how the quarrel had
originated. The face of the Strong One, as they called him, flushed
with anger at this recital.

"When did I ever put you in my place, Hassan?" cried he, in a fearful
voice, to the little old man, who, shrinking with fear, stole towards
the door, looking smaller than ever. The Strong One lifted his foot,
and Hassan went flying through the doorway with some remarkable leaps.

When