time.

He bent down again and directed his keen scrutiny on the road, then
retraced his steps for a short distance. There were tracks pointing in
both directions, but at one point the company seemed to have turned.

It was clear, then, that for some reason the force had been ordered to
turn and go back for a distance, probably to await the caravan in some
ravine, and that they were now not very far away. It was necessary,
then, to be as expeditious as possible.

He hastily returned and gave the order that the route of the caravan be
changed, and that the party should cross over the hills and proceed by a
route close to the Red Sea until the place of danger was left behind.

This was accordingly done, and the long lines passed anxiously yet
laboriously onward over flinty summits, down steep and rugged
hill-sides, past rocky clefts and over barren desert spots peopled only
by the echoes that rang from the mountain sides, until at last the
sparkling waters of the Red Sea lay below, and the anxious travelers
felt that, for the present at least, they were safe.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE BATTLE OF BEDR.

"A Prodigy of Fear, and a portent
Of broached mischief to the unborn times."

--_Shakespeare._

The afternoon was intensely warm. Although the heat of the day was past,
the houses of Mecca seemed to bake in the sun, the sand burned like a
furnace, and a visible, shimmering heat seemed to fill the air.
Nevertheless the ceremonies of Tawaf and the ablutions of Zem-Zem went
on unceasingly, for it was the month of Ramadhan, and the half-naked
pilgrims, with their scanty white garments, shaven heads, and bare feet,
kept up the perpetual promenade about the temple, even when so hot as to
be ready to drop of exhaustion. The courtyard was crowded with people,
the carriers of Zem-Zem water were in constant demand, and, in the
cooler recesses of the covered portico around the great yard, a humming
trade went on, the venders' cries rising above the prayers of the
pilgrims.

Such was the scene upon which Omair suddenly staggered, all breathless,
with haggard face, turban awry, and thin wisps of hair streaming in wet
hanks over his brow.

"Where is Abu Jahl?" he cried, gasping.

"Why, what is wrong? Tell us!" cried the curious crowd in some
consternation. "Where is Abu Sofian? Where is the caravan? Why have you
come alone?"

"Send me Abu Jahl!" was his only reply.

The old man happ