Upon my coming near them, six or eight of them surrounded me on horseback, and began to gabble in their own language. I was not very fond of my situation. It would have cost them nothing to have thrust a lance through my back, and taken the horse away; and, after stripping me, to have buried me in a hillock of sand, if they were so kind as give themselves that last trouble. However, I picked up courage, and putting on the best appearance I could, said to them steadily, without trepidation, “What men are these before?” The answer, after some pause, was, _they are men_; and they looked very queerly, as if they meant to ask each other, What sort of a spark is this? “Are those before us Ababdé, said I; are they from Shekh Ammer?” One of them nodded, and grunted sullenly, rather than said “Aye, Ababdé from Shekh Ammer.” “Then Salam Alicum! said I, we are brethren. How does the Nimmer? Who commands you here? Where is Ibrahim?” At the mention of Nimmer, and Ibrahim, their countenance changed, not to any thing sweeter or gentler than before, but to a look of great surprise. They had not returned my salutation, _peace be between us_; but one of them asked me who I was?--“Tell me first, said I, who that is you have before?”--“It is an Arab, our enemy, says he, guilty of our blood.”--“He is, replied I, my servant. He is a Howadat Arab, his tribe lives in peace at the gates of Cairo, in the same manner your’s at Shekh Ammer does at those of Assouan.” “I ask you, Where is Ibrahim your Shekh’s’ son?”--“Ibrahim, says he, is at our head, he commands us here. But who are you?”--“Come with me, and shew me Ibrahim, said I, and I will shew you who I am.”