"They say they are coming back," the Professor muttered. "Who's this? It's
the Chief and--"

"Our search is over, at any rate," Quest interrupted. "It's Craig!"

They came galloping up, Craig in white linen clothes and an Arab cloak;
the Chief by his side--a fine, upright man with long grey beard; behind,
three Mongars, their rifles already to their shoulders. The Chief wheeled
up his horse as he came within twenty paces of the little party.

"White! English!" he shouted. "Why do you seek death here?"

He waited for no reply but turned to his men. Three of them dashed
forward, their rifles, which were fitted with an odd sort of bayonet,
drawn back for the plunge. Quest, snatching his field-glasses from his
shoulders, swung them by the strap above his head, and brought them down
upon the head of his assailant. The man reeled and his rifle fell from his
hand. Quest picked it up, and stood on guard. The other two Mongars swung
round towards him, raising their rifles to their shoulders. Quest held
Lenora to him. It seemed as though their last second had come. Suddenly
Craig, who had been a little in the rear, galloped, shouting, into the
line of fire.

"Stop!" he ordered. "Chief, these people are my friends. Chief, the word!"

The Chief raised his arm promptly. The men lowered their rifles, and Craig
galloped back to his host's side. The Chief listened to him, nodding
gravely. Presently he rode up to the little party. He saluted the
Professor and talked to him in his own language. The Professor turned to