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Cecil Brown shrugged his shoulders, for he could not change in an hour the convictions of his life; but the others, even Fardet, the Frenchman, were touched and strengthened. They all took off their hats when he prayed. Then the Colonel made a turban out of his red silk cummerbund, and insisted that Mr. Stuart should wear it.
In the confusion he had tugged his hands free from the halter which bound them. "They've been smarter than I gave them credit for," said Belmont, his eyes shining from under his thick brows. "They are here a long two hours before we could have reasonably expected them. Hurrah, Monsieur Fardet, ca va bien, n'est ce pas?" "Hurrah, hurrah! merveilleusement bien! Vivent les Anglais!
Monsieur Fardet was a good-natured but argumentative Frenchman, who held the most decided views as to the deep machinations of Great Britain, and the illegality of her position in Egypt. Mr. Belmont was an iron-grey, sturdy Irishman, famous as an astonishingly good long-range rifle-shot, who had carried off nearly every prize which Wimbledon or Bisley had to offer.
"For example, the railroad that they are building right through the country, the one that runs alongside the river, that would be a valuable contract for the British?" Monsieur Fardet was an honest man, if an imaginative one. "It is a French company, monsieur, which holds the railway contract," said he. The American was puzzled. "They don't seem to get much for their trouble," said he.
In vain he tried to pass on at once to another of his little stock. The Moolah said something, and an Arab struck Fardet across the shoulders with the thick shaft of his spear. "We have had enough child's play," said the angry priest. "Are we men or babes, that you should try to impose upon us in this manner? Here is the cross and the Koran which shall it be?"
"Try and stave them off for five minutes longer, Fardet." The Frenchman stepped out with a courteous wave of his uninjured arm, and the air of a man who is prepared to accommodate himself to anything. "You will tell this holy man that I am quite ready to accept his teaching, and so I am sure are all my friends," said he to the dragoman.
Fardet looked helplessly round at his companions. "I can do no more; you asked for five minutes. You have had them," said he to Colonel Cochrane. "And perhaps it is enough," the soldier answered. "Here are the Emirs."
Fardet, the Frenchman, was sitting alone with his chin resting upon his hands, and his elbows upon his knees, staring miserably out over the desert, when Belmont saw him start suddenly and prick up his head like a dog who hears a strange step. Then, with clenched fingers, he bent his face forward and stared fixedly towards the black eastern hills through which they had passed.
The Colonel ran back to his companions, and the black soldier to his camel. Stephens looked relieved, and Belmont sulky, while Monsieur Fardet raved, with his one uninjured hand in the air. "Sacred name of a dog!" he cried. "Is there no end to it, then? Are we never to come out of the hands of these accursed Dervishes?" "Oh, they really are Dervishes, are they?" said the Colonel in an acid voice.
"It has been specially prepared by Dr. Fardet. At the supreme moment you have but to put it to your lips and you will be dead in an instant." This was a cheerful beginning. I will confess to you, my friends, that a cold chill passed up my back and my hair rose upon my head.
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