Page:A Prisoner of the Khaleefa.djvu/347

278 the dreaded Sirdar, had asked for me, and that I was to come at once.

It seemed an age while the chain was being slipped from my shackles, and then, led by Idris, I made my way to the gate of the Saier. I was crying dry eyed; I could see a blurred group, and then I was startled out of my senses by hearing English spoken — the only words of a European language I had heard for seven long years. From that blurred group, and through the gloom, came a voice, "Are you Neufeld? are you well?" And then a tall figure stepped towards me, and gave my hand a hearty shake. It was the Sirdar. I believe I babbled something as I received a handshake from one, and a slap on the shoulder from another, but I do not know what I said. Looking down at my shackles, the Sirdar asked, "Can these be taken off now? — I am going on." I believe a second's discussion went on with Idris, and then I heard the last order I was to receive and obey in the Saier, "Neufeld, out you go!" It was the Sirdar's order, and, half carried by the friendly and strong arms supporting me, I obeyed. The next thing I remembered was a British officer slipping off his horse, lifting me into the saddle, and trudging along at my side after the terribly trying and arduous day he must have had.

I was taken to the "head-quarters' mess" at the camp; the Sirdar had, I believe, allowed himself the luxury of a broken angareeb on which to rest; the staff were lying in all positions on the sand, fagged out, but hard at work with despatches and orders by the light of