“Who knows,” he grumbled aloud, wanting to hear his own voice for the sense of oppression had grown stronger, “who knows, the ostriches may be over the next dune or so, and I just can’t see them from here. Well, there’s the oasis, and I can make for it if worse comes to worse. But I’d feel like a jackass to go back and say I went and got myself lost.” As he spoke he was swinging the glasses slowly over the surrounding country. “Confound the luck,” he grumbled again, when unrewarded, “believe I’ll fire a shot or two. If Ali or Jack hears, he’ll answer.” Unlimbering his repeating rifle, he threw it to his shoulder, aiming for the crest of a nearby sand dune, and pressed the trigger. The report followed, and a spurt of sand showed the accuracy of his aim. Again he pressed the trigger. But this time the gun failed to be discharged. In surprise, Bob bent down to examine it. What could be the matter? Evidently, the mechanism had become jammed. Must have forgotten to clean it, and, perhaps, the all-pervasive desert sand had clogged it. A pretty note, he thought, and experienced a momentary feeling of panic. What if it had happened at a time when he needed it to protect his life? The thought made him shudder, and glance around quickly. Then a sight met his eyes at which words failed him. For a moment, he sat as if paralyzed, unable to move or even to think. Ten horsemen had filed silently, soundlessly, from behind the shoulder of the sand dunes in his rear. They were already almost upon him. From momentary paralysis, Bob’s mind leaped into lightning-like activity. He saw his escape toward Ali and Jack was cut off on one side, and on the other his retreat toward the oasis. It would be useless to attempt to flee, for his camel soon would be overtaken by the swifter horses, if he were not shot down in the meantime. For that first swift appraising glance assured him these men were armed with long Arab rifles. In the same glance, he noted something else which made his heart skip a beat. These men, tanned though they were, were recognizable as white men. And they were dressed exactly as was the wounded Athensian, lying delirious at the oasis, in fact they were Athensians, in short toga-like garments, bare legs and soft leather moccasins. All these observations and thoughts passed through Bob’s mind in a moment. He had a wild idea of throwing himself from his camel, causing the latter to kneel, and from behind it, as from behind a bulwark, fighting off the attackers. For, that they intended harm to him, Bob felt assured. But even in the moment of leaping from the saddle, he realized the futility of such procedure. His rifle was out of commission. What should he do? The party was closing in. Bob gave one wild searching glance to the south, where he had left Ali and Jack. They were nowhere in sight. Neither, for that matter, were the ostriches.