Many of the camels were wounded, some were dead, and valuable time was wasted, even in this disgraceful _sauve qui peut_, in a deadly struggle for possession of such animals as could move. Von Kerber, when it was borne in on him that to obtain a camel meant life for Mrs. Haxton and himself, shouted to her to keep close to him, and ran in front of a mounted Arab who had emerged from the melee. He ordered the man to halt, and, so near were Royson and his tiny squadron just then, that the camel might have brought all three into safety. But the Arab bent his head, and urged the swaying beast into a faster trot. Von Kerber fired at him, and the unhappy tribesman tumbled from his perch like a dummy figure. Snatching at the camel's head-rope, the Austrian lifted, almost threw Mrs. Haxton up to the saddle. Owing to its height from the ground, it was impossible to place her there securely, but she helped him bravely, scrambled somehow to the awkward seat, and stooped to drag him up behind. She had succeeded, by main force. The excited beast was plunging forward again to get away from the affrighting turmoil close to its heels, when a heavy thud shook the huge frame, the camel fell to its knees, lurched over on its side, and threw both riders heavily. Von Kerber alone rose. He was dazed for an instant, but he seemed to have a dim consciousness of the quarter from which mortal peril threatened, for he turned and faced Alfieri, who had reined in the Somali pony he rode and was taking deliberate aim at his enemy. The Italian carried a repeating rifle. It was he who had brought down the camel with a well-judged shot through the lungs, and, with the same venomous accuracy, he now sent a bullet through von Kerber's breast. The stricken man dropped on all fours, and glared up at his murderer. Then, nerving himself for a supreme effort of hate, he raised his own revolver and fired three times at Alfieri. Twice he missed, owing to the restiveness of the horse, but the third shot hit the Italian in the center of the forehead. When Royson found them, they were lying within a few feet of each other. Alfieri was dead. His pale student's features, softened by the great change, wore a queer look of surprise. Von Kerber was alive, but dying. He had fallen on his face, and Dick lifted him gently, resting the drooping head against his knee. "Are you badly wounded?" he asked, knowing well by the ashen pallor beneath the bronze of the desert that the man's stormy life was fast ebbing to its close. A dreadful froth bubbled from von Kerber's lips, and the words came brokenly: "That Italian beast--I hit him, yes?" "I suppose so. I could not see what happened. But he is dead. Pay no heed to him. Tell me what is best to be done for you." "Dead! _Ach, lieber Gott!_ That is good.... I--I am finished--_I_ know.... Go to Mrs. Haxton. Tell her ... the treasure ... Fenshawe will be generous...."