"I am not mistaken, I tell you; the tracks are yet fresh. You can see them a few paces hence. They show that five camels and a horse have passed this way, and you will not persuade me that another caravan, of precisely the same description, has crossed this plain." The chief made no reply, and all the men in the encampment, by this time armed, closed up to him, forming, a group of about thirty individuals, supported by a regular mob of women and children. So long as their chief was silent, these people gesticulated defiantly at the Europeans, and, what was more dangerous, came near enough to touch them. M. Périères and M. Delange began to comprehend the danger they were incurring. The firmness of their attitude had, for an instant, intimidated the Bedouins, but, in the end, it exasperated them, and, as no other caravan appeared on the horizon to give them food for reflection, their anger increased every moment. But, with the consciousness of danger, and still more with the knowledge of the responsibility which devolved upon them, M. Périères had recovered his wonted coolness. He was now, in reality, the man described one evening by Madame de Guéran in a few words—firm, courageous, intrepid as M. de Morin, without his imprudence. He was, so to speak, transformed in a second; his voice no longer had the same tone, his very look was changed. The two Arabs in his train saw this resolution at once. They felt that they were commanded by one of those leaders whom soldiers love to obey. M. Périères, without turning his head or losing sight of his adversaries, issued his orders to the escort— "When I raise my hand," he said, "cover these people with your rifles, but do not fire until I give the word." The shouts and threats continued. "Tell your women and children to withdraw," said M. Périères, addressing the chief. The chief did not condescend to reply. The European raised his hand. M. Delange, his two interpreters, and his two sailors unslung their rifles from their saddles and brought them up to their shoulders. The women and children at once fled, with cries of terror, in all directions. But, at the same time the Nomads cocked their carbines. M. Périères once more addressed the chief. "If your men," he said, "do not at once lower their pieces, I shall order mine to fire, and you may rest assured that though we are fewer in number, we are the stronger." The chief appeared to reflect, and, addressing the Frenchman, said— "For the last time, what do you want? I repeat that your friends are not here." "What has become of them?" "Well, then—they attacked my men, who killed them." "Show me their dead bodies, if that be so." "Go back along the way by which you came, and you will find them stretched on the sand." "You lie!" exclaimed M. Périères. "You always try to conceal your crimes, and you would not have left your victims on the road." "What do you want to do?" asked the chief. "I want to visit all the tents in your encampment."