“Listen,” Craig declared.  “I’ve made up my mind.  I won’t go back to America.  I’ve had enough of being hunted all over the world.  This time I think I’ll rid myself of one of you, at any rate.”

“Will you?”

The interruption was so unexpected that Craig lost his nerve.  Through an opening in the trees, only a few feet away, Lenora had suddenly appeared.  She, too, held a revolver; her hand was as steady as a rock.

“Drop your knife,” she ordered Craig.

He obeyed without hesitation.

“Now tie the sash around the girl.”

He obeyed mechanically.  Feerda, who had been fiercely resisting Quest’s efforts to hold her, yielded without a struggle as soon as Craig touched her.  She looked at him, however, with bitter reproach.

“You would tie me here?” she murmured.  “You would leave me?”

[Illustration:  FEERDA, THE CHIEF’S DAUGHTER, LISTENS ENRAPTURED TO CRAIG’S TALES OF FARAWAY AMERICA.]

[Illustration:  CRAIG FRANTICALLY ASSISTED IN DRAGGING PEOPLE FROM THE BURNING CAR.]

“It is Fate,” Craig muttered.  “I am worn out with trying to escape, Feerda.  They will come soon and release you.”

She opened her lips to shriek, but Quest, who had made a gag of her linen head-dress, thrust it suddenly into her mouth.  He took Craig by the collar and led him to the spot where the others were waiting.  They hoisted him on to a horse.  Already behind them they could see the flare of the torches from the returning Mongars.

“You know the way to Port Said,” Quest whispered.  “See that you lead us there.  There will be trouble, mind, if you don’t.”

Craig made no reply.  He rode off in front of the little troop, covered all the time by Quest’s revolver.  Very soon they were out of the jungle and in the open desert.  Quest looked behind him uneasily.

“To judge by the row those fellows are making,” he remarked, “I should think that they’ve found Feerda already.”

“In that case,” the Professor said gravely, “let me recommend you to push on as fast as possible.  We have had one escape from them, but nothing in the world can save us now that you have laid hands upon Feerda.  The Chief would never forgive that.”

“We’ve got a start, any way,” Quest observed, “and these are the five best horses in the camp.  Girls, a little faster.  We’ve got to trust Craig for the direction but I believe he is right.”

“So far as my instinct tells me,” the Professor agreed, “I believe that we are heading in precisely the right direction.”

They galloped steadily on.  The moon rose higher and higher until it became almost as light as day.  Often the Professor raised himself in his saddle and peered forward.

“This column of soldiers would march at night,” he remarked.  “I am hoping all the time that we may meet them.”

Quest fell a little behind to his side, although he never left off watching Craig.