Captured by the Arabs

“Don’t suppose there’s any use trying to find the thieves, is there?” asked Joe, as they approached their hotel.

Dr. Kirshner laughed unwillingly.

“They are probably halfway to the Sahara by now,” he returned, although he knew this to be an exaggeration.

When the explorers arrived at their rooms, Dr. Kirshner directed the preparations for the expedition, and the remainder of the day was spent in doing this. It seemed that the archæologist had forgotten his duties as a scientist and was thinking only of finding the hidden riches.

“If we are fortunate enough to find our objective, we will be paid many times the cost of the expedition,” he said.

“If those crooks don’t get ahead of us,” added Joe, with a grim smile.

“They won’t – not if we can help it,” blurted out Bob, fumbling his automatic.

At noon the adventurers stopped only a few minutes for a meal, so eager were they to finish the task of preparing for the expedition. They found it necessary to purchase much that they did not have, and the bazaars of Algiers were visited often for the unusual in the way of luxuries.

At last the work was completed, and all sat down to rest after the strain. Bob and Joe had had the experience once before of helping to make preparations for an expedition and knew what was expected of them.

“I wish we could take motion pictures of this city,” remarked Bob that evening. “But we’ve been instructed to wait till we start the journey in the Sahara.”

The next morning the explorers were up early, and after a bountiful breakfast they made their way to Fekmah’s hotel.

The Arab was expecting them and had finished making a second map. It was none too accurate, for he did it from memory, but it promised to be the only means between defeat and failure.

“You may wonder why I bothered to make more map,” he said to his friends. “But it possible that I forget some of the landmarks when we are on way, and this will – ”

“Come to the rescue,” interrupted Joe, smiling.

“And also,” Fekmah went on, “you may have this if anything should happen me.”

“Let’s hope nothing will,” said Bob.

“And now,” began Dr. Kirshner, “I’m going down to the railroad station and find out if we can get a train this morning. I’ll be back in a short time.”

“While he’s gone, suppose we go out,” suggested Joe to his chum. “There’s a lot we can see around here before we leave.”

“All right,” Bob replied. “But we don’t want to stay too long. There might be a train out in an hour.”

The youths decided to see the old section of the city, as they had heard from Dr. Kirshner that many points of interest were to be found there. It was but a few minutes’ walk to their objective, and they turned their eyes about.

As they were passing a café, Bob motioned for his friend to look inside.

A gray-haired, shriveled old man in torn clothing was strumming a guitar and walking from one end of the café to another, holding out a hand for money. But no one seemed inclined to give him any. Evidently this was a common occurrence, for the people paid little or no attention to the old beggar.

“I’ve half a mind to give him a break,” started Bob, but Joe pulled him back.

“If we want to see any of this town we’ll have to be at it,” Joe said, leading the way down the street.

The narrow ways were lined with shops and bazaars, offering the shopper a wide variety of commodities.

“But most of the things they sell you don’t want,” smiled Bob, glancing at a counter laden with coarse native food.

The youths noticed that certain streets were devoted to the selling of certain products. For instance, one avenue was lined with shops displaying brassware.

“It ought to be easy to find what you want,” grinned Joe. “Just walk down one street and you will have a large choice of the same thing.”

The boys spent nearly a half-hour in the native quarter. Finally Bob suggested that they get back to the hotel, and his friend was also in favor.

In a short time they were back in the hostelry and proceeded to go to their rooms. But they were scarcely at the doors when the sound of footsteps came to their ears. The next moment Dr. Kirshner came into view.

“Hello,” greeted Bob, and then his jaw dropped.

That something was wrong was evidenced by the frown that was on the archæologist’s face. His usual smile was absent.

“There’s been a wreck,” he said in an anxious voice. “The train has been wrecked. I guess we can’t get to Wargla so soon after all.”

CHAPTER IV

Lured to Danger

BOB and Joe gasped in astonishment.

“The train wrecked!” muttered Bob and then started. “What caused it?”

“I imagine you’re thinking the same as I,” the archæologist said quietly. “That those thieves were responsible for it to prevent us from getting to Wargla at once.”

Joe’s face glowed with anger.

“The dirty beggars!” he cried. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No. It happened that no one was. But the locomotive was derailed and lodged in a ravine, and the work of getting it back on the track and repairing it won’t start any too soon in this country. It may be two or three days before order will be restored. It looks like those robbers have won out after all.”

They walked on into the room, where they were met by the boys’ fathers and Fekmah.

“Is there anything wrong?” asked Mr. Holton, as he noticed the sober faces of his friends.

The situation was explained, and the men frowned. Fekmah especially was agitated.

“May the black monsters of Tidihet feast on them!” he exclaimed, running his fingers through his white hair. “Allah will punish them – they will not go free!”

“But that won’t help us any,” said Mr. Lewis dryly. “We’ve got to figure out some way to stop them, if it’s at all possible. The question is, what will it be?”

“There’s no way of telegraphing,” said Dr. Kirshner, gazing thoughtfully at the floor. “If we had any idea where they went – that is, what route they took – we might overtake them on fast dromedaries. But the chances even then would be slight.”

“We might – ” began Joe but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

For a moment the adventurers looked at one another in surprise. Then Mr. Holton moved over and cautiously opened the door.

The figure that stood in waiting was a tall, powerful Arab, with dark, piercing eyes that were none too pleasant to look at. He towered several inches above Mr. Holton, who was himself nearly six feet. Around the man’s shoulders and reaching nearly to the floor was a white gown, and on his head was the conventional hlafa.

For several moments he stood looking at the occupants of the room, as though forming a rapid opinion of the situation. Then he again turned to Mr. Holton and muttered something in the native tongue.

That Bob’s father understood was evidenced by the look of surprise that came on his face. A moment later he turned to his friends.

“He says Fekmah is wanted by a friend,” Mr. Holton said. “Won’t say any more. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“A friend?” Fekmah gasped. “Why, I know no person here. What could it mean?”

Again the stranger said something in Arabic and motioned for his objective to come out.

For a moment Fekmah was thoughtful. Then he decided to investigate.

“I will be back in short minutes,” he said and walked toward the door.

“Wait a minute,” called Dr. Kirshner. “I’m going with you.”

“And I, too,” cried Bob, getting up from his chair.

Joe also put in a request, but the archæologist shook his head.

“Two more are enough,” he said quietly, as he and Bob followed the Arab down the hall.

“Be careful,” warned Mr. Lewis, as they reached the stairs. “There’s no telling what that fellow may want.”

They reached the street and were directed around the corner and up a narrow byway, the stranger remaining several yards in the van.

“Keep a ready hand on your automatic,” whispered Dr. Kirshner to Bob. “Something may happen in a short time now.”

“Do you believe Fekmah is really wanted by friends?” the youth asked, glancing about as if he expected any minute to be confronted by a band of desperate characters.

“Beyond me,” was the reply. “But I believe it would be safer to say no than yes. But there is a possibility that he met someone and has forgotten about it.”

“What could they want of him? It all seems funny to me.”

On they went, now upward by a gently sloping street that was so crooked it seemed to have no outlet.

Suddenly the street stopped at a narrow, winding stairway that led almost straight up. All about were crowded houses of clay, dirty and weather-beaten and suggesting that only the very poorest of Arabs lived there.

Having made sure that the others were following him, the stranger led the way up the stairs. At the head was a small door, and this was opened for them to go inside.

But they hesitated.

“Ask him what he wants,” directed Bob. “There could be anything in there.”

Dr. Kirshner turned to the Arab and in a stern voice put the question before him.

The latter surveyed the American closely, then said in the native tongue:

“I wish nothing of you. It is Fekmah who is wanted. But if you and your friend must intrude, you may come in.”

The man’s attitude did not win the friendship of the explorers, but chiefly because they were at a loss to know what to do next they followed him inside.

A moment later the door was closed and they found themselves in a sort of twilight.

As soon as their eyes became accustomed to the dim light, they made out four figures sitting in the corner of the room. The bare floor alone served the place of chairs, and the men seemed comfortable. Bob at once formed the conclusion that these Arabs were of the same type as the stranger who escorted them here, and felt a bit uneasy. He would have felt much better with a hand on his gun, but this would have aroused the suspicions of the natives. Nevertheless he kept on guard for any treachery. If it came to a fight, he knew that it would be two to five, for Fekmah was, in his age, not capable of taking part.

None of the Arabs was able to speak English, evidently, but Dr. Kirshner knew the native language from his previous visits to North Africa. And he promised to translate occasionally to Bob.

But a moment later it was plain that there was little translating to be done, for one of the Arabs said something to Fekmah and motioned for him to come into the next room. The Americans were to remain where they were.

“I don’t like this,” muttered Dr. Kirshner, as he and Bob were told to be seated on the floor. “Anything may happen to him in there.”

“Suppose we go with him,” suggested Bob.

The archæologist nodded. He arose from his chair and started to follow, but one of the Arabs gently pushed him back.

“It is Fekmah who is wanted,” the fellow said in a queer bass voice. “You will wait here. It will only be a moment.”

Dr. Kirshner had half a notion to push through and follow his Arab friend, but he changed his mind and sat down with Bob on the floor.

“What’s the big idea of all this?” the youth asked in a puzzled voice. “They trying to double-cross us or something?”

The archæologist did not answer, for he felt all too sure that something serious was wrong. But what was there to do?

There was no conversation between the archæologist and the natives, for each seemed busy with his thoughts. Bob was extremely grave, and he wondered what was taking place in the adjoining room. Perhaps the Arabs wished to sell Fekmah something and did not wish to be thwarted by the whites. Or perhaps they wanted to engage themselves as guides on the coming expedition and knew they would have a better chance with Fekmah than with the Americans. But whatever it was, Bob felt uneasy. If their friend did not return before long he would go after him, the youth thought.

“We’ll wait a few more minutes,” said Dr. Kirshner. “Then – ”

“Listen!” commanded Bob. “What was that?”

“I didn’t hear anything. What – ”

“There it is again. Sounds like a muffled cry for help. It’s – it’s Fekmah!”

CHAPTER V

A Fight for Freedom

BOB was on his feet in an instant and dashed toward the door to the next room. But two of the Arabs were there first. With a catlike quickness they drew knives and advanced on the Americans. The other two natives came at them from the side.

“What does this mean?” demanded Dr. Kirshner, looking from one to the other, his black eyes snapping with anger.

“You are going to die!” was the grim answer from an evil-looking, flat-nosed fellow. He moved forward a step or two.

Bob did not understand the man but sensed that something sinister was to take place. He noticed the look of anger and anxiety on the scientist’s face.

With a sudden movement he drew out his automatic, at the same time stepping back several feet. His action was so quick that the Arabs were taken by surprise and stood for several moments trying to grasp the true meaning of it all.

“Now get back!” he commanded, flashing the shining pistol in their faces. “Take away their knives,” he said to Dr. Kirshner. “I’ve got them covered. Tell them I’ll shoot the first man who makes a forward move.”

The scientist did as directed and found that, beyond a vicious-looking knife, they were unarmed.

“You stay here and guard them,” said Bob. “I’m going in and see what’s happened to Fekmah.”

He moved over to the door and opened it. Holding the pistol in readiness, he walked slowly in the room. One glance told him that no one was in sight. But there was a door leading into a large alcove, and it was possible that he could find someone there. Perhaps the Arabs were in hiding, having sensed that they were in danger.

Tiptoeing as quietly as possible, Bob made his way to the closed door. He stood for several moments wondering what to do next. Then he decided to make a bold move.

Clutching his tiny automatic tightly, he took hold of the knob and with a sudden twist threw open the door.

The next instant he shrank back, for a tall Arab was almost upon him. The man held a vicious-looking knife in his uplifted right hand and was apparently ready to open the door when Bob did so first.

During the next few seconds Bob’s brain was in a whirl. He had half a mind to shoot the fellow outright and take no chances. But a moment later he thought better of it. He did not want to be guilty of murdering even this cruel Arab. If he had been as good a shot with a pistol as he was with a rifle, he would have shot the knife from the fellow’s hand. But as it was, he knew this could not be done.

Suddenly the Arab lowered the knife and, scowling cruelly, he rushed at the youth furiously.

Realizing that he must act quickly, Bob aimed at the man’s leg and fired. But his hand was unsteady from the terrific strain, and the bullet missed and lodged itself in the wall.

With a hoarse bellow the Arab came forward with terrific force, muttering angrily. He had the knife in readiness now, and was about to plunge it into the youth’s body when something unexpected happened.

Seeing a good chance, Bob pushed his foot forward with all his strength, bringing the man down with a thud that resounded through the little room. The Arab was taken completely unawares, and the knife went sliding across the floor.

The next instant he was on his feet, and, showing his black teeth wickedly, he darted toward his young enemy, his large hands ready to grip anything they might rest on.

Now was the time to act, Bob thought. Leaping forward, he sent his fist crashing into the Arab’s nose with all the strength in his powerful young body.

The man reeled, backed up, and then fell against the wall. Another victim of the youth’s boxing ability had gone to his fate.

Perspiration was dripping from the boy’s brow. His leg ached from the twist he gave it in bringing the Arab to the floor. Every muscle in his body seemed fatigued. For a brief moment a sensation of nothingness crept over him, and he felt slightly numb.

With a start he regained his composure and, with one glance at the still limp Arab, he dashed through the door, the shining automatic still in his possession. One thought stood out in his mind above all others. He must find Fekmah.

No one was in the alcove, but another door led out into a sort of hallway, and casting aside all thoughts of personal danger, Bob passed through it.

The next instant he found himself in a narrow passageway, with no windows or other means to admit light. The semidarkness was tantalizing, overcoming, but the boy went bravely on. Occasionally he stopped to listen. But no sound reached his ears. Could it be possible that Fekmah had been…

The thought was not a pleasant one, and Bob dismissed it from mind. Here was a door. Perhaps this would reveal something.

As quietly as possible he turned the latch and peeped in the room.

In the darkness he could make out no one at first. Then his eyes almost burst from his head as he saw, lying on the floor in the corner, tightly bound and gagged – Fekmah!

For a moment Bob stood spellbound. Then he rushed over to the unfortunate man.

“Fekmah,” he cackled gently and then bent over and felt of the Arab’s heart. It was still beating, and with a swift motion of a small knife Bob cut the ropes that bound the man. Then he removed the gag and stood back to see if his friend had been injured.

The Arab’s eyes opened, and he sat up with a start. A moment later the look of fear vanished from his face as he saw Bob.

“Praise be to Allah!” he murmured, getting feebly to his feet.

“Are you hurt?” the youth asked.

“No – not yet,” was the grim reply. “But the evil-doers were going to come back and kill me if I not tell where to find treasure. It is time now that they come. Let us go in haste, or they will stab us.”

“Treasure?” cried Bob. “You mean they wanted you to tell where the hidden riches in the desert are?”

“Yes. They were going torture me if I not tell. They are demons. Allah curse them!”

“But how did they know?” demanded Bob. “How did they find out about it? They’re not the same ones who wrecked the train, are they?”

Fekmah shook his head.

“How they find out, I not know,” he said.

Cautiously they made for the door and opened it. Satisfied that there was no one in sight, they walked through the hallway and into the alcove.

“Now we must be careful,” Bob warned. “I knocked a man out a while ago, and he may have come to by now.”

But when they reached the place, they found the fellow still limp.

At sight of the Arab, Fekmah looked at Bob with admiration. It was evident that the youth had gone beyond his expectations.

In a short time they reached the door into the first room and found that Dr. Kirshner was still guarding the Arabs. The scientist looked up in relief when he again saw Bob and Fekmah.

“I feared something had happened to you,” the scientist said. “I shouldn’t have allowed you to go in there,” he said to Bob. “But I see you’ve done your duty and brought back Fekmah.”

“But what shall we do now?” Bob asked. “Are there any officers to take charge of these crooks?”

“Yes,” the archæologist returned. “You and Fekmah stay here and guard these men and I will go after them. It is best not to take them down to the police station for fear of attracting too much attention. Other Arab friends might charge us in a large band.”

The next moment he was gone, after having promised that he would be back with officers in a few minutes.

“There ought to be some way to get the fellow I knocked out in here,” Bob thought, as he guarded the Arabs closely. “But I’d better not risk letting Fekmah have the gun. I’ll trust the fellow is still out of his senses when Dr. Kirshner and the officers arrive.”

The Arabs whom the youth was guarding were silent, but their evil faces suggested what they would do if given the chance.

Bob was in a position where he could also watch the door in the next room. He was taking no chances on an attack from behind.

“I bet Dad and the others are worried,” the boy thought. “We’ve been gone a long time.”

Inside of ten minutes Dr. Kirshner was back with three native policemen, who handled the crooks roughly. Each man was handcuffed and made to walk in front of the officers.

“Now,” said Dr. Kirshner, “suppose we get back to the hotel room. Our prolonged absence has probably caused a great deal of anxiety among our friends.”

“Yes,” Bob returned. “We – ” He stopped suddenly and then dashed into the next room for the crook whom he had previously knocked out.

But he was not surprised to find the man gone. An opened door revealed that he had escaped.

“No use looking for him,” the youth thought, as he retraced his footsteps back to his companions.

Bob was forced to explain to Dr. Kirshner, who was puzzled at the youth’s sudden dashing away. When he had finished, the scientist regarded him admiringly but warned him against taking unnecessary chances.

“Those fellows would think nothing of stabbing you to death,” he said, shaking his head gravely.

They went on up the street and arrived in a short time at the hotel in which were their friends. Up at Fekmah’s room they were given a hearty welcome.

“What kept you so long?” asked Mr. Holton, seeing at a glance that something was wrong.

Dr. Kirshner related the details of the previous happenings, laying stress on the pluck and bravery of Bob.

The naturalists and Joe listened closely, eager to get an account of everything. They did not seem unduly surprised, for at the start they felt that something was wrong. But that their friends would be in such grave danger was not in the least anticipated.

“It’s lucky that you’re here to tell it,” said Mr. Lewis, with a shaking of his head. “Such desperate characters know nothing else but to rob and kill.”

“But as it is,” smiled Joe, “you came out all right, and had an unusual experience at that.” Secretly he was sorry he had not taken part in it.

“And that is the second time Bob brought in criminals,” said Mr. Lewis, recalling an incident that happened the summer before.

“I’d rather you wouldn’t take such risks, though,” urged Mr. Holton. “If one taxes good fortune too much, he is sure to come to a tragic end some time.”

There was a short silence. Then Joe ventured to touch upon the matter that concerned them before the abrupt interruption of a short time ago.

“What will be our next move?” he inquired.

“Hmm,” hesitated Dr. Kirshner, “that is hard to say at present. I suppose, though, that the logical thing to do is wait and take a train to Wargla as soon as possible. When the track will be cleared is hard to say. It might be a day, or it might be several. I can see no other way of getting to Wargla, can you, Fekmah?”

“No,” replied the Arab. “Of course there are good roads part of way, and might ride automobile some of way, but train could get there sooner, even if we wait.”

“I guess you’re right,” agreed Joe, thoughtfully. “There’s no use wasting time trying to do a thing that can’t be done. Have you made inquiries as to about when we can expect the train to be ready?”

“Yes,” answered Dr. Kirshner. “The station agent said inside of two days, but it probably won’t be that soon.”

“Let’s hope it will,” said Bob. “I’m anxious to get started into the desert. How long will it probably be before we reach our destination, once we get started on camelback?”

“That all depends,” replied the archæologist. “If we see fit to use dromedaries, or the one-hump camel, we will make much better time. They can travel from ninety to a hundred miles a day with ease, and if forced, can do much better than that.”

“But the jolting is most uncomfortable,” Mr. Lewis reminded him, and Fekmah nodded.

“Soon get used to it, though, don’t you?” asked Joe.

Fekmah laughed.

“No, never,” he said. “But not feel it so bad after many days of riding.”

“But getting back to your question,” resumed the archæologist, speaking to Joe, “if we have good luck we should cover the thousand miles to the Ahaggar Mountains inside of two weeks, considering, of course, stops at oases, small towns, and the like. Then how soon we can find the hidden riches would be a mere guess, because without the map Fekmah will probably have much more difficulty in recognizing various landmarks.”