Dick Merriwell's Pranks: or, Lively Times in the Orient

CHAPTER IX – THE STRUGGLE AT THE STATION

“Well, that certain was an adventure, all right,” laughed Brad, when they were again seated in their compartment and the train was moving.

“I don’t know what I’ll do with you boys!” exclaimed Professor Gunn, with an air of exasperation. “You keep me on pins and needles all the time. I surely thought those Arabs would slice you up when they saw you go after the old sheik. They thought you were defiling the dead.”

“But the old boy was grateful when he learned that we had pumped the breath back into him,” said Dick.

“He pretended to be,” nodded the professor; “but that is no sign.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a Mohammedan, and they think it no harm to do anything to an infidel. They may deceive him, lie to him, steal from him, even kill him, without committing a sin. Richard, do not take any stock in the words of that old rascal.”

“I don’t have to,” said young Merriwell; “for it is not likely I’ll ever see him again. All the same, I seemed to feel that he was sincere when he expressed his gratitude.”

“It’s evident he’s a gent of some authority in his tribe,” put in Brad. “All the rest of his particular bunch seemed to stand in awe of him a plenty.”

Their interest in the strange country, together with their recent adventure, gave them food enough for conversation, and the journey was not nearly as long as they had expected it would seem.

At last, as the train approached Damascus, they found themselves in a narrow valley that was almost a gorge. Through this valley a clear stream rushed and roared over an exceedingly rocky bed. This stream drove a number of mills, the entrances to which were always surrounded by donkeys and camels, these animals having brought little loads of grain to the mills to be ground.

On the outskirts of the city they passed a group of Turkish villas, which looked very picturesque and attractive. These, they were told, were occupied by exiled officers of the Turkish government, who had committed offenses of some sort or had excited the distrust of the sultan. Instead of ordering them beheaded, their imperial master had sent them to Damascus, where they could be closely guarded.

Finally the train drew into the station at Damascus.

“Say, just have a look!” cried Brad. “I opine the whole town has turned out to meet us.”

There was a great crowd at the station – Arabs, Assyrians, Armenians, Turks, Jews, Greeks, Egyptians, and people from many desert tribes. They were all in a great tumult and uproar. A fence prevented them from crowding close to the track, but behind this fence they were packed thick as sardines in a box, staring, talking, pushing, gesticulating, and making a great hubbub.

“I wonder if this is the usual thing,” said Dick. “Perhaps some noted person is on this train.”

“Not likely that has brought them here,” declared the professor. “The arrival of a train is an event, and probably all the idle men in town rush to the station to see it come in.”

Their compartment door was flung open.

With alacrity the two boys descended to the platform.

“There they are!” cried a familiar voice that gave Buckhart a thrill.

“Oh, Dick! Hey, Brad!” called another voice.

Dick located the person who called to him. He grasped Buckhart’s arm and pointed.

“There they are – Budthorne and his sister!” he exclaimed.

In the midst of the crowd beyond the fence, being jostled about by the swaying mob, were Dunbar Budthorne and Nadia, whom they had last seen in Italy.

Professor Gunn was calling to the boys.

“Hold on, you kittenish young rascals!” he croaked. “Don’t be in such a hurry. Help look after this baggage.”

But the professor was forgotten in the excitement of what followed. Dick saw the wild crowd separate Dunbar Budthorne and his sister. He saw the two forced apart. Nadia was whirled aside. Then two men grasped her, one placing a dusky hand over her mouth to prevent her from shouting, while she was swept off her feet and literally borne away.

Dick shouted to Brad. He made a rush for the fence. Up into the air he sailed in a great leap that carried him over the obstruction and into the midst of the crowd.

The American boy seemed like an infuriated animal, for he hurled people to the right and left like one possessing the strength of a giant. He ripped a pathway through that crowd in a most amazing manner.

Nadia Budthorne was struggling vainly with her captors, who were on the point of lifting her into a carriage, when the American boy reached them.

Dick struck one man a blow that caused him to release the girl instantly.

But another swarthy fellow appeared and sought to seize the boy, while still one held fast to the girl.

Nadia, however, managed to get her mouth clear of the smothering hand that had been pressed over it.

She uttered a scream.

That cry was answered by a roar in the voice of Brad Buckhart, who was fighting his way through the crowd.

As the second ruffian reached for him, Dick managed by an agile twist and dodge to escape the fellow’s hand. Then he tripped the man and went at the one who was seeking to force Nadia into the carriage.

“Drop her, you cur!” he palpitated.

This fellow, who was the biggest one of the trio, flung the girl into the arms of yet another, then whirled on Dick, whipping out a knife.

The giant made a quick, forward, ripping stroke with the knife.

Again Merriwell’s quickness on his feet saved him, for he squirmed aside so that the blade of the knife simply pierced the loose part of his coat that swung from him when he made that rapid movement.

The next instant Dick seized the dark man’s hand with his left hand, held it firm, struck sharply with the lower edge of his right hand, which landed on the other’s wrist.

That man’s wrist was broken as if it had been a pipestem, and the knife fell to the ground.

Dick had broken it by a trick, knowing just exactly how to accomplish the feat.

A howl rose from the wretch, but the boy gave him no further attention.

He turned to look for Nadia.

Fortunately Brad Buckhart had reached the girl and in an encounter of this sort the Texan was second only to Dick Merriwell. In fact, Brad fought with more slashing fury than did Dick, but not with the same quick wit and instant decision on the right course to pursue.

The Texan had proved assistance enough, however, for he had rescued Nadia and knocked down the man who was seeking to force her into the carriage. The latter fell under the feet of the horses. The animals reared and trampled on him. He screamed, and the horses plunged away, the black driver apparently letting them go, instead of seeking to stop them.

The moment the carriage was gone the men who had attacked Nadia seemed to be swallowed by the crowd that surged round. The one with the broken wrist vanished, and even the fellow who had been trampled by the horse could not be found. It was easy for the other two to disappear in the crowd, for any one of a hundred men there might have been taken for either of them.

Dunbar Budthorne, pale and shaking with excitement, finally reached his sister, finding her clinging to Brad, who was supporting her with one arm.

Dick was on the other side of Nadia.

“Sister!” exclaimed Dunbar huskily; “have those brutes – ”

“I’m all right, brother,” she hastened to declare. “They did handle me roughly, but – ”

“The brutes!” he grated. “Is there no protection for respectable travelers in this wretched city? This is the third offense, and this was more outrageous than the others. I couldn’t do a thing. Before I realized it the crowd had forced us apart.”

“It’s fortunate Dick and Brad were able to reach me,” she declared. “I was helpless in the hands of those black ruffians. I believe they would have forced me into that carriage and carried me off before all this crowd only for the boys.”

Budthorne now shook hands with the boys, expressing his thanks and gratitude.

Buckhart was highly indignant over what had occurred, and he wanted to know why Dunbar had not appealed to the authorities for protection. Budthorne explained that he had appealed, but that foreigners were liable to insult anywhere in Damascus, and that often they were roughly treated.

This was true. The Moslems of that city are proud, but illiterate. They have come to know of the advancement of other peoples whom they regard as inferior, and they resent it. For four thousand years Damascus occupied an important position in the world, but now it is a place of very little importance, much to the indignation of its citizens.

But Budthorne knew the treatment accorded himself and his sister did not arise wholly from the fact that they were foreigners. There was another reason, which he explained later.

Professor Gunn came fluttering through the crowd, in a great state of agitation.

“Bless my soul! bless my soul!” he stammered. “This is dreadful! Is this thing going to continue wherever we go? If so, I’ll just have to take these boys back home. It’s scandalous! My nerves are completely upset!”

“Where is our baggage?” asked Dick.

“I had to leave it.”

“Unguarded?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we’ll be lucky if we ever see it again. Brad, stay with Nadia and Dunbar, while I go with the professor to look after that baggage.”

Fortunately not a piece of the baggage had been stolen. Dick was clear-headed, and he soon learned what to do with it, although Zenas rendered absolutely no assistance. There was a German hotel in the city, and a representative of the house took charge of all the luggage after it was pointed out, assuring them that it would be taken to the hotel without delay. Another man escorted our friends through the crowd to a carriage that ran to the hotel.

Once in the carriage they breathed easier. Away they were whirled through the narrow streets of the strange, old city, leaving the station and the motley crowd behind.

The houses of Damascus are mainly of sun-dried clay with flat roofs, surrounded by low copings. This roof serves for many purposes. Often it is used as a dining room, while during the hot summer months it serves as a bedroom at night. On warm evenings people sit on the housetops to enjoy the air. When the muezzin appears on the balcony of a minaret hundreds upon hundreds of faithful Moslems mount to their housetops and go through the gymnastic contortions of Mohammedan worship.

But not all the buildings of Damascus are low and flat-roofed. There are some towers, and temples, and minarets, besides a few modern buildings, with roofs of bright corrugated iron, which glisten in the sunshine.

Compared with most American cities, Damascus lacks trees and foliage. Compared with the desert surrounding it, however, it is a perfect bower of shade and rest.

A look of disappointment crept over the face of Brad Buckhart as he gazed around him on the way from the station to the hotel.

“I opine this is the worst part of Damascus?” he observed.

“On the contrary,” said Dunbar Budthorne, “it is far from being the worst part. This is quite respectable – almost swell, to use a vulgar word.”

“Well, I certain am a plenty disappointed,” muttered the Texan. “She isn’t just as I expected her to be.”

Dick questioned Dunbar about the annoyance to which he and Nadia had been subjected since arriving in the city.

“I may as well tell the cause of it,” said Budthorne, although Nadia showed confusion and shook her head warningly. “It’s all right, sister. You were not to blame.”

Brad wondered at her confusion and detected her in the act of casting a glance of apprehension toward him.

“On the steamer coming from Smyrna to Beirut,” said Dunbar, “we chanced to meet a very handsome and distinguished-appearing Turkish gentleman, who was called Hafsa Pasha. Although scarcely more than thirty years of age, he had traveled a great deal and had spent two years in the United States. He was educated, cultured, refined in manner, and a splendid traveling companion. Both Nadia and myself enjoyed his company very much. He told us he was bound for Damascus on business that concerned the Turkish government. He had been here before, and, therefore, he was able to give us much information of value and save us many petty annoyances.

“I confess that we both became exceedingly interested in this man. He was a scholar and could quote Shakespeare and Burns – even Longfellow! I think he had read Byron, but he confessed a natural prejudice for the great English poet who became the idol of Greece.

“At first neither Nadia nor I saw anything offensive in his manners. True, he was inclined to quote Burns to Nadia whenever he could find the opportunity, but she thought nothing of that until he made love to her pointblank.”

Buckhart gurgled a little deep down in his throat.

“Then,” continued Budthorne, “Nadia began to grow alarmed. She tried to avoid him, but every way she turned he seemed to bob up before her. She tried to keep him at a distance without offending him. Before we reached Beirut he proposed outright.”

Again Buckhart gurgled.

“He would not take no for an answer. In every way possible he sought to induce her to consider his proposal. At last he seemed to lose control of himself. In an hour we would be in Beirut. He found her alone on the after deck. I came up just in time to see him catch her in his arms and try to kiss her. We had an encounter, and I confess that he got rather the best of it, although I hit him in the face. That blow seemed to arouse a sleeping savage in him, for he cursed me and called me a dog of an infidel, swearing he would make me weep drops of blood for that insult.

“Well, we hastened out of Beirut and away to Damascus; but the day after we reached this city Hafsa Pasha appeared. His manner seemed again altered, and he was very polite and humble. He entreated pardon and begged to have an interview with Nadia. She declined to see him. Before he left, he laughingly told me that she would have to see him before she could get out of this city.

“That was our first annoyance in Damascus. The following day we were shopping in the bazaars when suddenly Hafsa Pasha and a number of men surrounded us. I was jostled aside. Hafsa Pasha talked to Nadia like a man deranged. He tried to plead with her, he offered her wealth and position, and then he threatened. I don’t know what might have happened, but a party of English tourists came along and I appealed to them. There came near being a free fight in that bazaar, but the Turk and his followers finally retired and the Englishmen escorted us back to the hotel.

“Then came the letter that stated you would arrive in a day or two. We have been watching the trains since then, and that is how we happened to be at the station to-day. You know what happened. I am satisfied that Hafsa Pasha was the instigator of this assault upon us. It seems now that he actually contemplates carrying Nadia off by force. We must get out of Damascus right away, or I fear he will find a way to accomplish his evil purpose.”

CHAPTER X – THE GREEN-EYED MONSTER

Brad Buckhart was striding savagely up and down the room, taken by himself and Dick, at the hotel. There was a black look on his strong face and his square jaw was set.

“I suppose you’ll have to walk it off old man,” said Dick; “but it seems to me you are permitting yourself to become altogether too wrought up.”

The Texan stopped, his feet wide apart and his hands on his hips.

“I certain can’t help being some wrought up, partner,” he said. “I reckon you would be in my place.”

“Without doubt. But we are here now, and we’ll look after Nadia. Hafsa Pasha’s little scheme of abduction won’t go.”

“Sure not; but it wasn’t that I was thinking of.”

“It wasn’t?”

“No.”

“Well, then – ”

“Budthorne let the cat out of the bag.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He didn’t make a clean breast of it when he first told the story. I’ve been talking with him since we arrived here at the hotel. I trapped him by asking questions.”

“Why, what do you mean by saying you trapped him?”

“Exactly that, pard. You know a funny thing has been running in my head ever since I trapped him. It’s a toast I heard once. This is it:

“‘Here is to the love that lies

In a woman’s eyes.

Yes, it lies and lies,

And keeps on lying.’”

Dick rose instantly and placed a hand on his chum’s shoulder.

“Why, Brad!” he exclaimed, “I never knew you to talk so queerly. What did Budthorne tell you that set you into such a mood?”

“You’re my friend. I wouldn’t talk of it to any one else. You know I was smitten on Nadia Budthorne.”

“Well?”

“Of course I was a chump to care for her.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Yes, I was. I’m a plain sort of chap, although I’m not half as wild and woolly as I pretend to be.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, old man. I’ve been able to see under the surface all along. I think I understand you.”

“You do, Dick, and you’re the only one. That’s why I swear by you. That’s why I’m ready to back you up in anything you do. There is a bond of sympathy between us.”

The Texan had dropped his swagger and his Western style of speech. For the time being his mannerisms fell from him like a discarded garment.

“Go ahead and tell me what it was that Budthorne said.”

“Why, he let it slip that both he and Nadia were greatly interested in this fine Turkish gentleman and that he encouraged her interest in him. In short, she carried on a mild flirtation with Hafsa Pasha, who rather dazzled her. Of course, I have no claim on her, and I’m too young to think of such a thing seriously. But she’s seventeen, and lots of girls get married at that age. In this country they marry at ten and eleven.”

“Great Scott! You don’t fancy she actually seriously considered marrying the Turk?”

“Why, he’s a very cultured gentleman. Budthorne said so. He is educated, and he has traveled extensively. Besides that, he is in the very prime of life. Such a man might dazzle the eyes of a young girl. There would be something romantic in a flirtation with him. She would be likely to dream of the splendor and power that would come to her as the wife of such a man. Don’t call me a fool, Dick! I know! I know!”

“If you’re not foolish, then you are crazy!”

“Only jealous, Dick. I confess it – I’m jealous! Never felt this way before. I have an awful feeling down here inside of me. I’d like to kill somebody!”

“But she threw Hafsa Pasha down, old man.”

“After Budthorne was told by the captain of the ship that Hafsa Pasha had a harem in Damascus.”

Merriwell gave a great start.

“Is that true?” he demanded.

“Budthorne confessed it.”

“Budthorne’s a fool!”

“Oh, we both knew all the time that he was weak. I think he encouraged Nadia in her flirtation with the Turk until he obtained that information from the captain. Then he got his eyes open and forbade her to have anything to do with the man.”

“Nadia is young, Brad. Her ideas are not formed yet. You mustn’t be too hard on her. Even if she did flirt with the Turk a little, perhaps she was never serious.”

“Perhaps not, but still I can’t help thinking she was. Of course you may say she had a right to flirt mildly with the man. Perhaps she did. Still I had exalted her in my own mind. I regarded her as staunch and true. I thought her far superior to the foolish, frivolous modern girl. She knew how much I thought of her, and she pretended to care for me. But, like all of her sex, out of sight, out of mind. I was far away. Hafsa Pasha, the handsome Turk, was near. He quoted poetry to her. She listened and was enchanted. She forgot me. They all do. Dick, you’re the only human being I ever knew who was staunch as the rock-ribbed hills. You never change, no matter what happens. All others are weak and vacillating. My confidence in human nature is pretty well shattered.”

“Oh, rats!” cried Dick. “Don’t get cynical, Brad! It doesn’t become you at all. You’re naturally the most optimistical chap in the world.”

“What do you think I’m going to do?” harshly demanded the Texan. “Think I can ever feel the same toward that girl? Not much! If she hadn’t learned that her old Turk was married, I’d be in the soup now. He’s married, and so I’m good enough for her until she finds some chap she likes better. I tell you it’s all off, Dick! I throw up the sponge! I quit!”

“I think this climate has got your liver out of condition,” said Merriwell. “What you need is a tonic. You’ll feel differently about this to-morrow.”

“Not to-morrow, nor the next day, nor ever!” declared Brad. “Miss Budthorne will find that I’m no chump to play second fiddle. Don’t you dare laugh at me, Richard Merriwell! I’m in deadly earnest!”

Dick did not laugh then, but he found an opportunity when Buckhart was not present.

However, Buckhart was far more serious than his comrade imagined.

During the remainder of that day Brad wore a heavy grouch. He kept much by himself and avoided Nadia, much to her perplexity. Finally her pride was touched, and she made no further effort to speak with him or to see him.

Never had Dick seen his friend in such a mood. In vain he tried to jolly the Texan and cheer him up. A profound cloud of gloom overhung the sturdy chap from the Rio Pecos country.

All were more or less weary, and so they willingly rested through the day.

When evening came Dunbar Budthorne proposed that they should attend the one theatre of the city, which was located on the principal square, within a short distance of the hotel.

“What sort of a performance is given there?” questioned Dick.

“Oh, vaudeville, tumbling, fencing, juggling, acrobatic stunts, and so forth. It’s rather dull as a performance, but it will serve to pass the time away.”

“Is it a suitable place for your sister to visit?”

“Well, I don’t know about that. I hear the men smoke until you may cut the atmosphere into chunks with a knife. The theatre is a rickety old shanty, and none too clean. We might leave Nadia here in the hotel.”

“Don’t do that!” she entreated. “Don’t leave me alone in this city. I’m afraid to be left alone, after what has happened.”

“Hum! ha!” coughed Professor Gunn. “I think we will omit the theatre. Evidently it is a low resort. I decline to permit the boys to visit it.”

And, although they chaffed him about it, the old man was rigid in his decision, which finally settled it, and they did not attend the theatre in Damascus.

The following morning, however, they prepared to start out to look the city over. When they were ready to leave the hotel it was found that Buckhart had vanished.

On inquiry they learned that he had set out by himself, leaving word for them not to bother about him.

Nadia pouted and looked greatly disappointed.

“What is the matter with him?” she asked. “I think he’s just as mean as can be! What makes him act so queer?”

She pinned Dick down and put the question to him, not a little to his dismay. He could not tell the truth, and he would not lie.

“I’ll have to let him explain his own actions,” he said, seeking to find a loophole of escape.

“But you know why he is so peculiar – I know you do! You can’t deny it!”

“I won’t try.”

“Then you must tell me. I insist on it.”

“Please don’t, Nadia! It will be all right in time, but I prefer to let him explain.”

After a while he induced her to drop the subject temporarily although he knew she would return to it at the first opportunity and seek, with all the intensity of her feminine curiosity, than which there is nothing more acute and prying, to compel him to divulge the truth.

Arouse the curiosity of a girl and she will strain every nerve to learn a secret, even though she knows the knowledge will make her most miserable. The only way to keep a secret from a girl is not to let her suspect a secret exists.

They left the hotel and proceeded to the public square, which is located near the centre of the city. This square proved to be a large, open place, where at that hour throngs of people of all nationalities and colors were assembling. The square was a sort of public market. In the centre was a fountain and monument.

All around the sides of the square were the little booths and stands of itinerant merchants, the most of them with their goods spread out on the ground before them, and arranged in the most inviting manner their ingenuity could devise.

There were many professional letter writers, each one sitting at a desk under awnings of canvas or straw. They did not sit on chairs, but flat on the ground, with their legs crossed. They were supplied with wooden or reed pens. Their ink they carried in inkhorns.

Many of these letter writers were busy. Some were writing business communications, some were drawing up contracts or making out legal papers, while one, with a veiled woman sitting near him, was writing a love letter, recording the words whispered to him by the lips hidden behind the veil.

Within the square were carts, camels, saddle horses, carriages, and donkeys, all there to be hired.

Men were wandering about, sometimes in pairs and holding hands. This, Budthorne explained, was a common sight, it being an evidence of affection that was thought quite natural in Damascus.

Adjoining the square were several coffee shops, where Turkish men could be seen sitting round, smoking hookahs, sipping coffee, and playing checkers, chess, dominoes, and so forth. They wore long, calico gowns, and their heads were swathed in turbans.

“Look here,” said Dick, motioning toward some passing camels. “See how oddly their owners decorate the beasts. They have strings of blue beads round their necks.”

“You’ll see that everywhere, on camels, horses, and donkeys,” declared Budthorne. “Those strings of beads are charms to ward off the influence of the evil eye.”

A strange sound smote their ears. It came from the open door of a little shop, and it made them shiver, for it was a sort of doleful wail and chant combined.

“Some one must be dying in there!” exclaimed Dick.

They looked in at the door. A young man was sitting cross-legged on the floor, busy at some sort of work.

He was singing!

Despite the distressing sounds he was emitting, this young man was very happy.

He was singing a love song!

The sound of clanging, clanking, and banging, as of many persons pounding tin pans and washboilers, came to their ears. A few moments later they found themselves at the beginning of the bazaars of the city. The sounds they had heard came from the coppersmith’s street, where hundreds of skillful laborers were at work on brass, beating and molding it in to all sorts of shapes. They were making bowls, trays, and dishes, such as may be seen on sale in any genuine Oriental store.

It was very interesting to watch these laborers, and their skill was something to marvel at.

They wandered on through bazaar after bazaar, their interest and wonderment increasing.

One bazaar was filled with pipes and smoking paraphernalia of every description. There were pipes mounted with gold and silver, and some were decorated with precious stones.

Then came the leather shops, the cloth store, the curio shops, the place of odd and ancient weapons, the goldsmith’s bazaar, and, most fascinating of all, the Street of the Greeks. In the latter place were to be seen all sorts of Oriental articles and ornaments, embroideries, rugs, carpets, silks, clothing, armors, weapons, pipes, gems, coins, fezzes.

They were besieged by Armenians, Greeks, and Jews, all anxious and eager to sell them goods. Only the Turks sat back in dignified silence and declined to solicit trade. Some of the dealers were offensive in their insistence. They pulled Nadia and held articles before her for inspection, dilating on the merits of the goods. They named prices and then asked for offers.

Budthorne became confused and Professor Gunn grew angry. Dick was compelled to look after Nadia. She clung to his arm.

In this manner they came face to face with Brad Buckhart, who was wandering through the bazaars alone.

Nadia gave a little cry.

“There’s Brad!”

He turned like a flash and disappeared amid a mass of people who were crowding before one of the booths.

“Oh, Brad!” called Dick.

“Why, what made him do that?” exclaimed the girl, in dismay.

Merriwell was provoked.

“Come!” he urged. “He can’t get away. We’ll find him.”

They hurried after the Texan. Dick caught a glimpse of him leaving the bazaars. Nadia was still clinging to Dick’s arm.

At the beginning of a narrow street Buckhart paused and glanced back, then he turned and disappeared down the street.

Never had Dick known his friend to behave in such a perplexing manner.

“I’ll shake some of the foolishness out of him if I ever get my hands on him,” Merriwell mentally vowed.

Thinking they would have no trouble in returning to the bazaars and finding the professor and Dunbar, they hastened down the narrow street.

Turning a corner, they came against a caravan of loaded camels in a most sudden and startling manner. It was necessary to hug the wall in order to let the animals and their drivers pass.

There were many dogs in the streets. These animals prowled about or slept serenely beneath the feet of pedestrians, who were careful to step over them or to turn out and go round without disturbing them.

As in Constantinople, the dogs were the street cleaners, and no one harmed them.

After following the crooked street some distance and failing to again catch a glimpse of Buckhart, Dick decided they had better turn back.

“I don’t know how we could have missed him,” he said.

“He may have turned onto another street.”

“I saw no other street.”

“I did.”

Retracing their steps, they came upon a street that was like a choked alley. Nadia believed they could return to the bazaars more quickly by taking it.

But when they had followed it into still another street, and turned from this into yet another, she confessed that she was bewildered and knew not which course should be pursued.

Then Dick set out to make his way back as quickly as possible, the girl relying wholly on his judgment. They seemed entangled in a network of very crooked and very bewildering streets.

Again they were suddenly confronted by a number of loaded camels. The one in advance was heavily loaded, his pack being so broad that it nearly touched the walls on either side. The beast came swinging on.</