I spent the rest of the day covering up the stele I had unearthed with sand. There was no use thinking of attempting to transport it to Cairo under existing circumstances. But I had no mind to be deprived of the credit attached to its discovery. So I hid it well. Afterwards I gathered up my portable possessions, including my tent, and packed them in a load for my ass's back ready for the morrow. For I had resolved to set out on the morrow for the Hill of Rakh. Surely, I thought, Ottley will be quite recovered by this. I wondered why he had not sent for me before--in accordance with his pledge. Had he forgotten it? The desert was exceptionally still that evening. There was a new moon, and although it gave but little light, it seemed to have chained the denizens of the wilderness to cover. I lay upon the sand gazing up at the stars and listening in vain for sounds, for hours, then, at length, I fell into a quiet doze. The howling of a jackal awakened me. It was very far off, therefore I must have slept lightly. A long sleep, for the moon had disappeared. The darkness that lay upon the land was like the impenetrable gloom of a rayless cave. But the heavens were spangled with twinkling eyes, that beamed upon me very friendly wise. I had lost all desire to repose, but I had found a craving for a pipe. I took out my old briar-wood, therefore, charged it to the brim and struck a match. "My God!" I gasped and scrambled afoot. The tall Arab who had terrified Miss Ottley in the cave temple at Rakh stood about three paces off intently regarding me. I struck a second match before the first had burned out, then felt for my revolver. "Tell me what it is you want," I cried in Arabic, "and quickly, or I fire." He did not speak, but very slowly he moved towards me. I raised the pistol. "Stop," I said. He did not stop. "Then have it!" I cried, and pulled the trigger.