“How far can I depend on you?”

At this the French agent draws his figure up with much pomposity.  He slaps one hand upon his inflated chest.

“To ze death, monsieur!”

“Good!  Tell me, are you armed?”

“It has been my habit, among zese Arabs, zese negroes, zese ragged Kabyles from ze mountains.  I would not trust my life wizout zis.”

Then he suddenly flourishes before John’s eyes, delighted with the spectacle, a genuine American bull-dog revolver, which, judging from its appearance, is capable of doing considerable execution when held by a determined hand, and guided with a quick eye.

John instantly matches it.

“Hurrah!” he exclaims, with enthusiasm, “we are well matched, Monsieur Constans.  Let it be the old story of Lafayette and Washington.”

“It ees glorious!  Zey won ze fight.  Why should not we, monsieur—­”

“My name is Doctor John Craig from Chicago.”

“I greet you zen, Monsieur Doctaire.  Zis is all new business to me.  Tell me what to do, and I am zere.”

“Then we’ll follow these tracks a little and try to learn something about those who were here, their number, whether mounted or afoot, and the probable direction they took.”

“Superb!  I am one delighted to serve wiz a man of zat caliber.  You meesed ze vocation I zink, Monsieur John, instead of ze doctaire you should be ze general.”

John knows it will not pay to stop and talk with Monsieur Constans.  A Frenchman is inclined to be voluble, and valuable time may be lost.

So he walks on, bending low in order that the lantern light may be utilized.  Thus he follows the tracks some little distance, with the fighting Gaul at his elbow, endeavoring to penetrate the darkness beyond.

It is a peculiar situation, one that causes him to smile.  This time he is not tracking the deer through the dense forests of Michigan.  Somewhere ahead are fierce Arab foes who have his friends in their hands.

At the same time he has a vague feeling of alarm in the region of his heart, alarm, not for himself, but concerning the fortunes of Lady Ruth.

A month, yes, hardly more than two weeks before, John Craig did not know there was such a being in existence.

Even when first made acquainted with her he had believed her rather haughty, according to his American notion of girls.

Gradually he has come to know her better, has come to understand the piquant character underlying what he was pleased to look upon as pride, and which her aunt must have had in mind when she gave her the significant name of Miss Caprice.

Thus events have rolled on until now, in this period of suspense, when the girl seems to be in desperate danger, he awakens to the fact that he loves her.

With Monsieur Constans at his side, John has gone perhaps a few hundred yards when the light of the lantern suddenly falls upon a human figure advancing; an Arab, too.