ore sunset we will all eat
and drink to build up our strength and as soon as it is dark we will
strike a blow that will rid the land of our enemies."

With all these preparations for battle, the day passed swiftly. Dick's
main worry was that Jess Slythe might appear in his stolen monoplane
and drop bombs upon the tribesmen as he had done before. Of course his
fears might be groundless. Dick was not sure whether the fellow was
still alive or whether his plane had crashed in the desert, but until
he was assured of the man's death, he would have reason to fear him.
If Slythe should reappear and drop grenades on the tribesmen, that
would give the Arabs a chance to storm the cliffs without resistance,
and would lead to the destruction of the natives and his own death as
well.

But the treacherous flyer was busy elsewhere, it seemed, for the
_Meteorite_ did not appear, and as the sun sank low, Dick breathed more
freely and gave orders for the last meal before the battle.

Down in the Arab camp, Abdul and Suli were also watching anxiously for
the plane and cursing Jess Slythe, who had disappointed them.

"By the beard of the Prophet!" cried the Arab chief, "that dog has
betrayed us."

"What trickery can he be up to?" mused Suli, staring for the hundredth
time at the heavens.

"Allah alone knows what the knave is doing! But it is for no profit
but his own."

"How can he expect us to storm these cliffs without his help?"
exclaimed Abdul.

"We would be crushed by stones and pierced by arrows," said Suli.
"Nothing for it but to wait until tomorrow. Today, it is too late to
even try."

"We will send out scouts to see whether there is an easier passage
beyond the cliffs.--A way where we could go up on our horses and take
the savages by surprise."

"They are stubborn, hard-fighting fellows," said Suli. "By the
Prophet, Abdul, we will find it hard to make slaves of such men."

"You are right. They are not like the black fellows we have captured
in the past. These men were not born to be conquered. We will have to
fight for all the profit we make in this venture."

The two leaders of the Bedouin slave traders scowled at the cliffs that
loomed so high above the spring where they had camped. From the grim
black edges, arose a fringe of smoke; the fires where the Gorols and
the Taharans were roasting game for the feast before the battle.

The sky had turned flaming red, the glory of the sunset was over the
dese