"Not I, sir. Keep still, the black won't come off."

"But I can't let you be waiting upon me. Suppose one of the Emir's men came in."

"Well, that would be awkward, sir; but I'd chance it this time."

"No," said Frank stoically. "There, I feel a little rested now. Go on and bathe yourself. You want it as badly as I."

"But let me tend you a bit, sir--Ben."

"Sir Ben!" cried Frank angrily. "You mean to betray us, then?"

"It's just like me, Ben Eddin; but you will let me give you a cool sponge down? It's quite right, sir, as a barber."

"No, no, I'm better now," said Frank sharply, and he busied himself in getting rid of the unpleasant traces of their ride, feeling the better for the effort he was forced to make, and listening in silence to Sam, who, after so long an interval from conversation was eager to make use of his tongue.

"Hah!" he said; "water is a blessing in a country like this; but oh, Ben Eddin, did you ever see such a place and such a people?"

"No," said Frank shortly. "Horrible!"

"Why, our Arabs, sir, with their bit of a tent are princes and kings to 'em. Ugh! the horrible filth and smells and sights, and then the slaves!"

"Horrible!" said Frank again.

"I've read a deal about slavery, sir, and the--what do they call it?-- atrocities; but what they put in print isn't half bad enough."

"Not half," a.s.sented Frank.

"After what I have seen to-day, not being at all a killing and slaughtering sort of man, I feel as if it's a sort of duty for our soldiers to come up here with fixed bayonets, and drive the black ruffians right away back into the hot deserts they came from. Did you see inside one of those huts we pa.s.sed?"

"I saw inside many, Sam," replied Frank.

"I meant that one where the two miserable-looking women came to the door to see us pa.s.s."

"What, where a man came back to them just before we reached the dying camel?"

"Yes; that was the place."

"I just caught a glimpse of him as we pa.s.sed."

"Was that all, Ben Eddin?"

"Yes, that was all. Why?"

"Ah, you were on first, and I was a bit behind the professor, sir, and I saw it all."

"What did you see?"

"Saw him go up to first one and then the other, knocking them down with a big blow of his fist; and the poor things crouched with their faces in the sand and never said a word."

"The savage!"

"That's right," said Sam viciously. "I was talking to Mr Abraham about it afterwards, and he said he saw it too, and that they were slaves, like hundreds upon hundreds more, who had been taken in some village the wretches had looted, and that he hadn't a doubt that their husbands had been cut down and killed in one of the raids. What's a raid, sir?"

"A plundering expedition, Sam," said Frank wearily, "such as that the Emir was upon when we were captured."

"Oh, I see, sir. Big sort o' savage kind o' murder and burglary, wholesale, retail, and for exportation, as you may say. When they want anything they go out and take it?"

"Exactly."

"Hah! That's what old Mr Abraham meant when he said that these Soudan tribes didn't care about settling down and doing any gardening or farming, because they could go and help themselves whenever they wanted.

He said they were black locusts who came out of the south."

"He was quite right, Sam," replied Frank, "and you have seen the effect of their visits; every place is devastated, and the poorer, industrious people get perfectly disheartened."

"I see, sir. Feel it's no use to get together a bit of a farm and some pigs, because as soon as the corn's ripe and the pigs are fat these locusts come and eat the lot."

"You are right as far as the corn is concerned, Sam," said Frank, smiling; "but I don't think you have seen many pigs since you have been out here."

"Well, now you come to mention it, sir, I haven't. I was thinking about it when I saw some of those bits of farm places outside where the slaves were at work, and it made me think of an uncle of mine who was in that line of business away in the country--he's a rich farmer now out in Noo Zealand. I used to go for a holiday to see him sometimes down in Surrey, and he would say that there was nothing like having a good sow and a lot of young pigs coming on, different sizes, in your styes, for they ate up all the refuse and got fat, and you'd always something to fall back on for your rent, besides having a nice bit of bacon in the rack for home use. He said he never saw a small farm get on without pigs. Some one ought to show 'em how to do it out here. But I don't know what would be the use of fattening up your pigs for the Mahdi chaps to come and drive them away."

"There is no fear of either, Sam," said Frank, smiling. "These Mohammedan people look upon the pig as an unclean beast."

"Well, that's true enough, sir; but it is his nature to. He's nasty in his habits, but he's nice."

"I mean unclean--not fit to eat--a Mohammedan would be considered defiled by even touching a pig."

"Ho!" said Sam scornfully, "and I suppose killing and murdering and getting themselves covered with blood makes 'em clean! Unde--what do you call it?--undefiled. Well, all I can say is that the sooner this holy man and his followers are chivied out of the country the better."

"Yes--yes--yes, Sam," said Frank, more wearily; "but don't talk to me.

I want to think."

"I know, sir, about Mr Harry, sir; but don't think, sir. You think too much about him."

"What!" cried Frank angrily.

"It's true, sir. You're fretting yourself into a sick bed, and though I'd sit up o' nights, and do anything in the way of nursing you, sir, we can't afford to have you ill."

"Why not, Sam?" said the young man bitterly. "It is all hopeless. Poor Harry is dead, and the sooner I follow him the better."

"Mr Frank--Ben Eddin, I mean--I do wonder at you! It don't seem like you speaking. Never say die, sir! What, talk about giving up when we've got to the place we were trying for! There, I know. You're done up with being out in the sun. But cheer up, sir. You come and have something to eat, and then have a good night's rest. You'll feel different in the morning. Why, we've hardly begun yet. You knew before you started that Mr Harry's up here somewhere. Well, we've got to find him, and we will."

"If I could only think so," groaned Frank.

"Think so, then, sir," said Sam earnestly. "Why look at me, sir. 'Bout a month ago I used to groan to myself and think what a fool I was to leave my comfortable pantry in Wimpole Street to come on what I called a wild-goose chase; but I came round and made up my mind as it was a sort o' duty to the guv'nor and you gents, and though I can't say I like it, for the smells are horrid, and the way the people live and how they treat other people disgusting, I'm getting regular used to it. Why, if you gentlemen were to call me to-morrow and to say that the job seemed what you called it just now, hopeless, and you were going back, I should feel ashamed of you all. You take my advice, sir, and stick to it like a man. It's like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay, I know; but the needle's there, and you've got to pick out the hay bit by bit till there's nothing left but dust--it's sand here--then you've got to blow the dust away, and there's the needle."

"That's good philosophy, Sam," said Frank, smiling.

"Is it, sir? Well, I am glad of it. I only meant it for good advice."