upposed it to come from the ugly
quadruped that, after saluting them, had retreated up the gorge.

On turning their eyes in that direction, they at once saw that they were
mistaken. A quadruped had produced the noise, but one of a very
different kind from the hairy brute with which they had parted. Just
emerging from the shadow of the sand-hills, they perceived a huge
creature, whose uncouth shape proclaimed it to be a camel.

The sight filled them with consternation. Not that it was a camel; but
because, at the same time, they discovered that there was a man upon its
back, who brandishing a long weapon, was urging the animal towards them.

The three midshipmen made no effort to continue the journey thus
unexpectedly interrupted. They saw that any attempt to escape from such
a fast-going creature would be idle. Encumbered as they were with their
wet garments, they could not have distanced a lame duck; and, resigning
themselves to the chances of destiny, they stood awaiting the encounter.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

A CUNNING SHEIK.

When the camel and its rider first loomed in sight, indistinctly seen
under the shadow of the sand-dunes, our adventurers had conceived a
faint hope that it might be Sailor Bill.

It was possible, they thought, that the old man-o'-war's-man, left
unguarded in the camp, might have laid hands on the maherry that had
made away with him, and pressed it into service to assist his escape.

The hope was entertained only for a instant. Bill had encountered no
such golden opportunity, but was still a prisoner in the tent of the
black sheik, surrounded by his shrewish tormentors. It was the maherry,
however, that was seen coming back; for as it came near, the three
middies recognised the creature whose intrusion upon their slumbers of
the preceding night had been the means, perhaps, of saving their lives.

Instead of a Jack Tar now surmounting its high hunch, they saw a little
weazen-faced individual, with sharp angular features, and a skin of
yellowish hue puckered like parchment. He appeared to be at least sixty
years of age; while his costume, equipments, and above all, a certain
authoritative bearing, bespoke him to be one of the head men of the
horde.

Such in truth was he--one of the two sheiks--the old Arab to whom the
straying camel belonged; and who was now mounted on his own maherry.

His presence on the strand at this, to our adventurers, most inopportune
moment, requires