CHAPTER XII

A DESERT VENGEANCE


1.

Quest was the first the next morning to open his eyes, to grope his way
through the tent opening and stand for a moment alone, watching the
alabaster skies. Away eastwards, the faint curve of the blood-red sun
seemed to be rising out of the limitless sea of sand. The light around him
was pearly, almost opalescent, fading eastwards into pink. The shadows had
passed away. Though the sands were still hot beneath his feet, the silent
air was deliciously cool. He turned lazily around, meaning to summon the
Arab who had volunteered to take Hassan's place. His arms--he had been in
the act of stretching--fell to his sides. He stared incredulously at the
spot where the camels had been tethered. There were no camels, no drivers,
no Arabs. There was not a soul nor an object in sight except the stark
body of Hassan, which they had dragged half out of sight behind a slight
knoll. High up in the sky above were two little black specks, wheeling
lower and lower. Quest shivered as he suddenly realised that for the first
time in his life he was looking upon the winged ghouls of the desert.
Lower and lower they came. He turned away with a shiver.

The Professor was still sleeping when Quest re-entered the tent. He woke
him up and beckoned him to come outside.