It was to Belmont that he held them first. The Irishman gave an involuntary groan, and his wife gasped behind him, for the splinter came away in his hand. Then it was the Frenchman's turn, and his was half an inch longer than Belmont's. Then came Colonel Cochrane, whose piece was longer than the two others put together. Stephen's was no bigger than Belmont's. The Colonel was the winner of this terrible lottery. [Illustration: The Colonel was the winner of this terrible lottery p222] “You're welcome to my place, Belmont,” said he. “I've neither wife nor child, and hardly a friend in the world. Go with your wife, and I'll stay.” “No, indeed! An agreement is an agreement. It's all fair play, and the prize to the luckiest.” “The Emir says that you are to mount at once,” said Mansoor, and an Arab dragged the Colonel by his wrist-rope to the waiting camel. “He will stay with the rearguard,” said the Emir to his lieutenant. “You can keep the women with you also.” “And this dragoman dog?” “Put him with the others.” “And they?” “Put them all to death.” CHAPTER IX As none of the three could understand Arabic, the order of the Emir would have been unintelligible to them had it not been for the conduct of Mansoor. The unfortunate dragoman, after all his treachery and all his subservience and apostasy, found his worst fears realised when the Dervish leader gave his curt command. With a shriek of fear the poor wretch threw himself forward upon his face, and clutched at the Arab's jibbeh, clawing with his brown fingers at the edge of the cotton skirt. The Emir tugged to free himself, and then, finding that he was still held by that convulsive grip, he turned and kicked at Mansoor with the vicious impatience with which one drives off a pestering cur. The dragoman's high red tarboosh flew up into the air, and he lay groaning upon his face where the stunning blow of the Arab's horny foot had left him. All was bustle and movement in the camp, for the old Emir had mounted his camel, and some of his party were already beginning to follow their companions. The squat lieutenant, the Moolah, and about a dozen Dervishes surrounded the prisoners. They had not mounted their camels, for they were told off to be the ministers of death. The three men understood as they looked upon their faces that the sand was running very low in the glass of their lives. Their hands were still bound, but their guards had ceased to hold them. They turned round, all three, and said good-bye to the women upon the camels. “All up now, Norah,” said Belmont. “It's hard luck when there was a chance of a rescue, but we've done our best.” For the first time his wife had broken down. She was sobbing convulsively, with her face between her hands.