ble of Arabs and Somalis to
the outskirts of the town, where the caravan was in process of
formation. It was no ordinary caravan. There were no bales of goods
lying about, no camels laden down with burdens, but surrounded by many
of the population drawn hither by curiosity were about fifty camels with
simple trappings, and a group of Somalis and Arabs all heavily armed,
the Arabs with rifles, the natives with long spears.

Simultaneously with the arrival of the captives, Makar made his
appearance with an armed escort and proceeded to hold a close
conversation with the two Arabs who seemed to be the leaders of the
caravan. He spoke earnestly for quite a while, making many gestures, and
pointing from time to time at the prisoners. Then he turned away, and
instantly all was excitement.

The Arabs and Somalis quickly pulled themselves upon their camels, and
with the aid of the guards the Englishmen were mounted in the same way,
each man being hoisted up beside an Arab or a Somali.

No resistance was made. The Hindoo soldiers were in a state of deep
dejection, and poor Sir Arthur seemed hardly to realize his position.

The caravan was now ready to start. At the last filed at a slow trot
over the sandy plain in a southerly minute Makar Makalo passed
carelessly by Guy and whispered, "Keep good heart. Makar no forget."
Then he vanished in the crowd, and, with a loud cheer to speed them on
their way, the line of camels direction.

Guy turned his head for a last look at Zaila and the harbor, now
beginning to glimmer in the first rays of the sun, and then a stretch of
sand-hills hid the town from view.

Little did he realize that which he must pass through before he saw the
coast again.

From the ruined fortifications of the town an unseen observer watched
the departure of the caravan. It was Manuel Torres. The crafty
Portuguese was well pleased to see the hated Englishmen speeding away to
their doom.

He was a cunning knave, and had laid his plans well. Perhaps he feared
the stability of the new government. If the English came into possession
of Zaila again, he could invent some clever tale to disprove his
connection with the Arab revolt; and who could bear witness against him?
None, indeed, for the lips of those who alone knew his guilt would be
hopelessly sealed. Africa never gives up her slaves.

To the wretched captives that day's journey over the scorching desert
was a fearful experience. Nothing is more painful t