“Don’t be alarmed, Miss Sadie; don’t be at all alarmed!” though his own limbs were twitching with agitation.  Monsieur Fardet stamped about with a guttural rolling of r’s, glancing angrily at his companions as if they had in some way betrayed him; while the fat clergyman stood with his umbrella up, staring stolidly with big, frightened eyes at the camel-men.  Cecil Brown curled his small, prim moustache, and looked white, but contemptuous.  The Colonel, Belmont, and the young Harvard graduate were the three most cool-headed and resourceful members of the party.

“Better stick together,” said the Colonel.  “There’s no escape for us, so we may as well remain united.”

“They’ve halted,” said Belmont.

“They are reconnoitring us.  They know very well that there is no escape from them, and they are taking their time.  I don’t see what we can do.”

“Suppose we hide the women,” Headingly suggested.  “They can’t know how many of us are here.  When they have taken us, the women can come out of their hiding-place and make their way back to the boat.”

“Admirable!” cried Colonel Cochrane.  “Admirable!  This way, please, Miss Adams.  Bring the ladies here, Mansoor.  There is not an instant to be lost.”

There was a part of the plateau which was invisible from the plain, and here in feverish haste they built a little cairn.  Many flaky slabs of stone were lying about, and it did not take long to prop the largest of these against a rock, so as to make a lean-to, and then to put two side-pieces to complete it.  The slabs were of the same colour as the rock, so that to a casual glance the hiding-place was not very visible.  The two ladies were squeezed into this, and they crouched together, Sadie’s arms thrown round her aunt.  When they had walled them up, the men turned with lighter hearts to see what was going on.  As they did so there rang out the sharp, peremptory crack of a rifle-shot from the escort, followed by another and another, but these isolated shots were drowned in the long, spattering roll of an irregular volley from the plain, and the air was full of the phit-phit-phit of the bullets.  The tourists all huddled behind the rocks, with the exception of the Frenchman, who still stamped angrily about, striking his sun-hat with his clenched hand.  Belmont and Cochrane crawled down to where the Soudanese soldiers were firing slowly and steadily, resting their rifles upon the boulders in front of them.

The Arabs had halted about five hundred yards away, and it was evident from their leisurely movements that they were perfectly aware that there was no possible escape for the travellers.  They had paused to ascertain their number before closing in upon them.  Most of them were firing from the backs of their camels, but a few had dismounted and were kneeling here and there—­little shimmering white spots against the golden back-ground.  Their shots came sometimes singly in quick, sharp throbs, and sometimes in a rolling volley, with a sound like a boy’s stick drawn across iron railings.  The hill buzzed like a bee-hive, and the bullets made a sharp crackling as they struck against the rocks.