Immediately our friends were searched by the Bedouins and deprived of their weapons. Ali Beha stood with folded arms and watched. The professor made no remonstrance, but on his face there was a look of helpless despair that was pitiful to see. Buckhart was pale, his lips pressed together and his jaw squared. Dick’s dark eyes flashed and his nostrils dilated. Although he submitted without another word of protest, there were resentment and anger in his pose. “It is well,” said the chief. “Now, where are our friends?” cried Merriwell suddenly. “We wish to see them. Have you deceived us?” “Thou shalt see that I have not. The friend who sent for thee is in yonder tent. He is waiting to greet thee. Enter.” The chief made a sweeping gesture toward one of the larger tents. Both Dick and Brad started toward this tent, but immediately the Texan was stopped, while the chief informed him that he was not to enter. “If there’s any trouble, pard,” said Buckhart, “just raise the war cry. I’ll try to join you.” Dick nodded and walked into the tent, the flap of which he was compelled to lift. A single person occupied the tent. He was sitting on a mat at the rear, smoking a cigarette. His garments were Turkish and there was a fez on his head. About him there was something familiar. A muttered exclamation of surprise rose to Dick’s lips. Dropping the tent flap behind him, he stepped quickly forward. As he did so the cigarette smoker lifted his head, and young Merriwell was face to face with Miguel Bunol! CHAPTER XXIII—THE FOUNT OF FURY “You?” exclaimed Dick, in astonishment. Bunol inhaled a deep whiff of smoke, permitted it to escape in a thin, blue cloud, and smiled triumphantly. “As you see,” he said insolently. “Here?” gasped the American boy. “Here,” nodded the Spaniard. “I don’t understand it!” “I didn’t think you would.” Dick’s hands were clenched and his breast heaving. He stood staring at his malignant and persistent enemy, his heart overflowing with anger. Bunol was languidly triumphant, his contemptuous glance an irritating insult, his triumphant smile like a stinging blur in the face of the duped lad. “Fooled!” muttered Dick bitterly. “Completely,” nodded Bunol. He was enjoying his triumph to the fullest. He felt that this was his hour, and he meant to make the most of it. It was a moment when a weak boy in Dick’s place would have collapsed. Dick did not. Although astonished and dismayed for the moment, he showed no sign of weakness. Bunol laughed harshly. “You have pretty good nerves,” he admitted; “but I think you do not yet understand the situation. Look, Merriwell, you are in my power!” “Where do you obtain the power?”