t he knew it
would be useless. Youssef had too many men.

The camels appeared like wraiths from behind the dune, and Rick blinked
trying to see more clearly.

There were three, and only one of them carried a rider. He waited
tensely for the rest of the band to appear.

The camels arrived and Rick whispered urgently, "The rest must be
behind. Jump him and we'll grab the camels and make a run for it."

Hassan tensed. "Yes. Be ready."

The camel rider came close, and lifted a hand in greeting. "_Assalamo
alaikum. Fil khedma, ya sidi. Ana gay men sidi Moustafa._"

Rick was tensed to spring, to haul the man from his saddle, when Hassan
put a hand on his arm. "Wait. He say greeting, he is at your service,
and he come from Mr. Moustafa!"

Rick watched in unbelieving amazement as the driver forced his groaning
camel to kneel, then immediately commanded the other two to kneel also.
When the camel's protests had ceased, Hassan spoke to him rapidly. The
man answered at length.

"He was with Youssef," Hassan said. "But he is also in the pay of Kemel
Moustafa. Last night he went to Moustafa and told him about us. Moustafa
sent him to bring us back."

Rick hesitated. Could they trust this man? But it was a silly question,
because he knew he had no choice. Anything was better than sitting in
the desert and waiting.

"Ask if he has water, then we'll go with him."

The man did, a full water bag. They drank sparingly, knowing the danger
of too much water after deprivation. Then the three mounted the camels.
Rick held onto the horn in front of him as the mount lurched
protestingly to its feet, then they were going across the sands to the
east at what seemed incredible speed. Ahead of them, the first flush of
real dawn was visible.

* * * * *

The sun was high before they came within sight of the first man-made
objects in the desert. Rick saw pyramids, but not those of Giza. He
called to Hassan, who was riding his swaying mount like a veteran.

"What pyramids are those, Hassan?"

"Sakkarah," the dragoman replied. "We come back long way around."

To the east, then the south, Rick thought. He was by no means sure of
what would be waiting, but at least he knew where he was. Sakkarah, a
"must" for tourists, Bartouki had said. Well, he was getting there, even
though he had taken the hard way.

On the road near Sakkarah a car was waiting, and in it was Kemel
Moustafa. The cameleer made the mou