"Yes, I know," said the professor; "but we are making an enemy instead of a friend; this man is not in the habit of having his will crossed."

"We shall lose his friendship all the same," said the doctor, "if his son dies in my hands. I can save his life if he is left to me."

"Dare you say that for certain?"

The doctor was silent for a few minutes, during which he bent over his patient again, took his temperature, and examined the pupils of his eyes, and at last rose up and stepped from beneath the shade of the rough little tent.

"Yes," he said; "I can say, I think for certain, that I will save his life if he is left to me."

"What does the wise Hakim say?" asked the Baggara of Ibrahim; and the question was interpreted to the doctor.

"Tell him, No! That his son must not stir if he is to live. If he is left for say a week all may be well."

There was no outburst of anger upon the interpretation of these words, the Baggara hearing them to the end and then walking away, frowning and stern, without once looking back.

About an hour later some half-dozen men came up leading a couple of camels laden with a larger tent and other gear. This was set up a short distance from the small one in which the young chief lay, and soon after it was done the chief rode up once more to see his son, looking anxious and careworn upon seeing the young man lying apparently unchanged.

The Baggara went away without a word to the Hakim, but signed to the Sheikh to follow him.

Meanwhile the rest of the sufferers came or were carried to take their turn before their surgeon, who was busy with his two aides, easing bandages, and where necessary redressing the wounds; while to the professor's surprise two of them, instead of being carried or supported away by their comrades were helped into the large tent.

In all seven were placed there, and just as the long line of sufferers had been gone through, the Sheikh returned and said that the chief's orders were that the worst sufferers were to stay at the tent so as to be under the Hakim's eye.

The doctor's was evidently to be no sinecure appointment, but he took it quite complacently, giving a few orders for the comfort of his staying patients, and without further incident the night fell, when a small hand-lamp was placed in the little tent, and the doctor announced that he was going to watch beside the young chief for the night.

Accordingly a rug was placed for him, as well as such requisites as might be needed for his patient, and saying good-night, and refusing all offers to share his vigil, the doctor glanced inside the larger tent to see that all was going on right there, and then stood in the open for a few minutes to breathe the cool night air and listen to the low murmur going on in the camp, before entering the smaller tent and starting slightly.

"You here, Frank?" he said quickly.

"Yes, I am going to share your watch."

"There is no need, my dear boy," said the doctor warmly. "Go and get a good night's rest. You must be tired."

"I have not done half the work you have," was the reply, and after a little further argument the doctor gave way, and the watch was commenced, first one and then the other taking the lamp to bend over the insensible man, and make sure that he was breathing still.

It was about an hour after midnight that Frank's turn had come, and as he had done some three times before, he took the lamp from where it stood, shaded from the sufferer's eyes, and went behind him, to kneel down and watch for the feeble pulsation, breathing deeply himself with satisfaction as he found that the respiration still went on, when as he rose, lamp in hand he nearly let it fall on finding himself face to face with a tall figure in white robes, who looked at him sternly, took the lamp from his hand, and bent over in turn.

Frank neither spoke nor moved, but drew back a little, watching the face of the Baggara chief as the light struck full upon the swarthy, aquiline features for a few minutes, before the visitor rose and handed back the lamp, gazing full in the young man's eyes. Then, thrusting his hand into his waist scarf, he freed the sheath of a handsome dagger from the folds, and without a word handed it to Frank, motioning him to place it in his own belt, after which he went silently out of the tent, vanishing like a shadow.

Frank stood motionless for a few minutes before setting down the lamp, and he was about to return to his place when the doctor's voice said softly--

"Well, Frank, how is he?"

"Just the same," replied Frank. "You heard the chief come in, of course?"

"The Baggara? No; surely he has not been again?"

"Yes; looked at his son, and went away a few minutes ago. Were you asleep?"

"No, I think not--I am sure not," said the doctor. "I turned my face away from the light when I lay down; but I heard you rise, and saw the movement of the lamp over the tent side when you took it up, and again when you set it down. Well, I am not sorry that he has been. It shows that even such a savage chief as this--one who lives by rapine and violence--has his natural feelings hidden somewhere in his heart."

The pair were silent for some little time, and then the doctor rose to look at his patient in turn.

"These are the anxious hours, Frank," he said, "before daylight comes.

Much depends on our getting well through the next two. If the poor fellow is alive at sunrise I shall feel quite satisfied that he will recover; but if he does it will be by a very narrow way."

The pair sat then and listened and watched, with the patient still breathing slowly and softly, seeming very calm at last when the first faint dawn appeared; and soon after the doorway was shaded by the Sheikh.

"How is he, Excellencies?" he said in a whisper.

"He will live, Ibrahim," replied the doctor. "Come and watch now while we go to my tent and s.n.a.t.c.h a few hours' rest."

"I have some coffee ready for you, Excellency," whispered the old man.

"You will take that first?"

"Yes, it will be very welcome," said the doctor.

"I suppose you heard them go?" said the Sheikh, as they stepped out into the soft grey light. "Go? Heard whom go?" said Frank quickly.

"The Baggara," replied the Sheikh. "About two hours ago."

"No!" said the doctor. "Not a sound."

"They have all gone, Excellency, excepting the wounded in the next tent and twelve mounted men who are stationed round to act, I suppose, as a guard."

"But they will come back?"

"I cannot say, Excellency," replied the old man; "I only know that they have gone."

"'And fold their tents like the Arabs,'" said Frank softly to himself, "'and as silently steal away.'"

CHAPTER TWENTY.

PRISONERS INDEED.

Before the sun rose Frank's rescue party fully realised their position-- that they were prisoners, guarded by about twenty of the Baggara chief's followers, and in charge of a temporary hospital, with the leader's son as the princ.i.p.al patient.

"We must look our trouble, if trouble it is, straight in the face, Frank, my lad," said the professor, "and hope all will turn out for the best."

"Yes," replied Frank, with a sigh; "but of course we cannot stir from here, and the time is going so fast."

"But we reckoned upon meeting with obstacles, and this one may prove to be a help in the end."

"I hope so," said the young man despondently, his manner seeming to belie his words. "But what about the future--I mean when these men need no more attention?"

"My idea of the future is that the chief has gone with his men upon some raid already arranged, and that we shall have them back before long."