“It is that Mr. Oliphant and myself should go forth to meet these children of nature, waving a white handkerchief as if to welcome them. I will explain to them, in terms they will comprehend, and with a sufficient regard for the truth, what our situation is. They will doubtless convey us to their village, whether they believe me or not. In the meantime you, Mr. Dorrell, will have hidden yourself in a tree—no difficult feat to a man of your years; and when you see a fitting opportunity, you will steal your way to the shore, rejoin your friends on the yacht, and take such steps as may suggest themselves in consultation with them to effect our release.” “A capital idea!” said Tom. “But can we do it? Can you speak to the Moors in their own tongue?” asked Oliphant. “My dear fellow, your father selected me for this mission precisely on account of my knowledge of Arabic,” said Sir Mark. “If these Riffians do not understand me, it will be because my speech is so much purer than theirs.” “Well, good luck to you!” cried Tom. “I’m off before they see me.” And donning his djellab, which he had spread on the ground to dry, he disappeared among the trees. CHAPTER XIII—DIPLOMACY Before the band of horsemen had approached the edge of the little plateau where the airship lay, the two men stepped forward through the trees at its lower edge and waved to the oncomers with every sign of welcome. “I hope none of them will recognize me,” said Sir Mark in a low tone to Oliphant. “Probably few in this wild district have ever been in Tangier, where my features are tolerably well known; and having been for some time unable to shave—these followers of the Prophet are forbidden the use of the razor, and Mr. Schwab does not carry one—I look perhaps a little unlike myself.” The horsemen came up at a gallop, bringing their horses to a halt when it seemed to Oliphant that he and his companion must be trampled to the ground. “Peace be with you!” said Sir Mark in Arabic, making a slight inclination. “And with thee, peace!” returned the leader of the party, looking not a little surprised at this orthodox salutation from a N’zrani. “In the name of the most Merciful!” Sir Mark continued. “Thou dost behold us in sore straits, O Son of the Mountain. We are brothers under our skin, thou and I, and I crave thy help.” “Bismillah! I am thy host, and all that I have is thine.”