“Don’t try to make any excuses for that dog!” exploded the Texan. “He was the very limit when he attended school at Fardale. You know it, partner—you know about all the dirty, low-down things he did there. He was born a crook and a sneak. What was he doing when we ran across him in London?” “Fleecing Dunbar Budthorne at cards.” “Worse than that. He was ruining Budthorne by keeping him full of booze. He had found that Budthorne had a weakness for drink. But, in order to complete the unfortunate fellow’s destruction, Bunol had doped the man with a drug that made him crave liquor constantly. A cur that would do a thing like that deserves anything that comes to him.” “I’m not going to put up an argument,” said Merriwell; “but it seems to me that one of his worst tricks was the attempt to ensnare Nadia Budthorne and force her into marriage with him.” “You bet!” roared Brad. “It makes my blood boil to think of that!” “But we fooled Bunol very handsomely and rescued both Budthorne and his sister from the rascal’s grip.” “Which was no easy job. Professor, considering everything, I leave it to you if Bunol received punishment worse than he merited, when Ras al Had turned the tables on him, and commanded the Bedouins to take him into Arabia and sell him into slavery?” “Hum! ha!” coughed Zenas. “Well, well, it may sound harsh and cruel, but I must confess that his punishment and fate has never given me a single moment of uneasiness and pity. He was bad—about the worst scoundrel I ever saw. He brought it on himself. I agree with Brad that he merited just what he got.” “Perhaps he did,” admitted Dick; “but think of the awful life he will be compelled to endure as a slave to black men in the Arabian desert! It makes me shiver.” “I opine it will make him hot,” said Brad, with a faint grin. “There is no escape for him.” “Oh, yes, there is.” “What is it?” “Death! A fellow can always find some way to kill himself.” Dick was thinking of the horrible word picture of slavery in Arabia that Miguel Bunol had painted. “I don’t like to think about it!” muttered Merriwell, his face rather pale. “Let’s do something.” “There is only one thing more left for us to do in Egypt, boys,” said the professor. “What’s that?” “Why, you might take an excursion up the Nile.” “We might?” “Yes.” “How about you?” “I hardly think I’ll try it.” “Why not?” “Well—er—ahem!—I prefer to remain here in Cairo. I am quite contented. I have visited the Pyramids, seen the Castle of the Nile, wandered through the Alabaster Mosque, viewed the Tombs of the Caliphs, and peered into the Haunted House of the Afrit. I am satisfied. I’m willing to be quiet and rest. I’ll stay right here while you take an excursion up the river.” Dick winked at Brad. “What’s the attraction that interests you so much in Cairo?” he asked. “Oh, no—no attraction,” Zenas hastened to declare. “Nothing at all. I’m contented, that’s all.”