and, for his sake, Ahmed was often hired to
accompany caravans. Nay, once, at Cairo, Solimin was chosen to carry
the sacred person of the Khedive on a day's excursion up the Nile bank,
which event served the tribe as a boast for months afterward.

It was the year after this journey to Cairo that Ahmed met with a
terrible adventure. He and Mustapha, making their way home after a
long journey, had lain down to sleep away the noontide hours, according
to the custom of desert travelers. Their camels were tethered beside
them, all seemed secure and peaceful, when, sudden as the lowering of a
cloud, a party of Arabs, belonging to a wild tribe at enmity with all
men, pounced upon them. Ahmed and his son defended themselves manfully,
but what could two men, surprised in sleep, do against a dozen? In five
minutes all was over. The assailants vanished in a cloud of dust, and
Ahmed, who had been struck down in the rush, recovered his senses, to
find camels, baggage, belt, money, everything gone, and Mustapha
wounded and motionless on the earth beside him.

Ahmed thought him dead. They were alone in the desert, a hundred miles
from home, without food or water, and with a groan of despair he sat
down beside his son's body, bowed his head, and waited until death
should come to him also. An Arab believes in fate, and gives up once
for all when misfortune occurs.

But Mustapha stirred, and Ahmed at once sprang up. There was nothing he
could do for the poor boy, except to chafe and rub his hands; but this
was something, for presently Mustapha revived enough to speak.

"Are they gone?" he asked.

"Yes, the accursed ones, they are gone, with all our goods and with
Solimin! The Prophet's curse light upon them!" And passing from despair
to fury, Ahmed threw sand upon his head, and flung himself on the
ground in helpless rage. Mustapha joined in with groans and
lamentations.

When the father and son grew calmer, they began to discuss their
situation. Ahmed knew of a small unfrequented oasis, about twenty miles
away. It was their only chance of safety, but could they reach it?

"I _think_ I can walk," declared Mustapha, tying up his wounded leg in a
fold torn from his turban. But he limped sadly, and his tightly pressed
lips showed pain as he moved. He was faint with hunger beside. Neither
of the men had eaten since sunrise.

Suddenly Mustapha uttered a joyful cry, and lifted something from the
earth.

"The Prophet be praised!" he