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Rh had kept in the lead, leaped upon the rim of the hollow, followed by their comrades leaping after them or creeping and squeezing through the rifts and rents of the rock like so many eager hounds, a lone rider, mounted on a Midianite dromedary, was seen hurrying away at top speed towards the southeast. He was without a doubt a Midianite, a member of the band that was routed not an hour before. Why should he have stayed behind? And if he had succeeded in secreting himself in their own camp, might not another one, or more, of these pests of the desert have remained? And would they not seek to retrieve the quarry from which the band, in solidarity, had been driven away?

These thoughts flashed through Rachor's mind the instant that he regained his judgment; but it was an instant too late. He cried after his companions, who were lustily engaged in the chase, to stop and return; but they pressed on, not even heeding their plain unfitness for a race afoot after a rider of the fleetest footed beast on earth. Rachor returned to the camp by leaps and bounds like a lioness in rage running to the defense of its endangered cubs.

The Midianites had as by chance associated themselves to the caravan of Rachor and his Hebrew companions on the road. They had exhibited none of the characteristic national traits of brutal arrogance and passionate thievishness. On the contrary, they had shown themselves as unselfishly hospitable and as frankly sociable as if they, at least, of their whole tribe, had never known of the deep-rooted envy and hatred which the sons of Midian bore the sons of Isaak. But all their show of good will did not dispel the mistrust of the Hebrews. “We have honey on our hands,”