Then Nadia reappeared, looking rather startled and agitated. “Goodness!” she gasped. “I almost ran right onto a lot of monks at their devotions!” The camels were swinging past. “We must get away from here in a hurry!” exclaimed Dick. Even as he uttered the words several priests came hurrying to the open door of the temple. They saw Nadia. One of them pointed at her and shouted to his companions. Then the whole of them moved again, as if eager to lay hands on her. “Here’s trouble!” muttered Dick, feeling for his pistol. “Don’t let them touch me!” gasped Nadia. The head priest called to some of the men of the train that was passing. Several of these men, swarthy and villainous in appearance, halted in answer to this call. The words of the priest seemed to arouse them. They glared at the girl and started to mount the steps. Out flashed Merriwell’s pistol. “Hold on, you dogs!” he commanded, displaying the weapon. “Stop where you are! Back up, or I’ll have to damage some of you!” The sight of that pistol caused the foremost among them to retreat precipitately. But Dick and Nadia were caught between two fires, as it were. The angry priests were behind them, while a number of savage men were in front. The American boy knew he must lose not a moment in changing his position. Grasping Nadia’s wrist, he hurried down the steps and attempted to flee along the street. Another shout from the priests caused several of the fierce-looking men to place themselves before Dick and the girl. Although Merriwell threatened to shoot, they would not let him pass. Merriwell looked round for some place where he could hold off the fanatical Moslems. He was forced to retreat against the nearest wall. Supporting Nadia with one arm, he lifted his pistol and fearlessly faced the howling crowd, which now began to close about them in a half circle, urged on by the priests. “Death to the infidels!” howled the crowd. They shook their fists at the boy and girl. Those behind tried to urge on those in advance. One old Turk spat at Dick. Young Merriwell realized the seriousness of his position. He was pale, but his nerves remained steady and unshaken. “Come on!” he cried clearly. “I’ll fill some of you with lead!” Suddenly the crowd parted. A man forced his way through, pushing other men to the right and left. As he advanced he drew a gleaming sword, the hilt of which was set with jewels. The crowd seemed to think this man, who was an Arab of rank and distinction, judging by his dress, meant to attack the boy, and they uttered shouts of approval, urging him to run the “infidel dog” through. Dick had turned his pistol on the man with the sword, but he hesitated. “It is Ras al Had!” he exclaimed, in surprise. CHAPTER XI—A MAN OF COMMAND It was in truth the sheik who had been struck by the train the previous day. The Arab turned and faced the howling mob, flourishing his shining sword.