WHEN Bob reached the ground, he was sore from numerous bruises, but to his great joy his legs and arms responded to his efforts to move them.

He glanced up the side of the peak, but the darkness veiled his vision.

“Wonder what became of the old flashlight?” he mused, feeling about on the soft ground.

Finally his hand came upon something hard, and a thrill of delight ran through him as he realized that he had found the electric torch. But his heart sank as he saw that it had been damaged by the fall.

“Lens wasn’t broken, though,” he observed. “Must be the bulb.”

Without the light there was no way of knowing how far he had fallen. But he readily guessed that it was not over eight or nine feet.

The moon was just beginning to show itself from behind the thin clouds, and it might be possible to travel in its light. Whether to do so or not, Bob could not easily decide. He knew that Fekmah would be extremely worried if no one returned to camp that night, but he doubted if he could keep awake long enough to direct his dromedary over the right way. He finally made up his mind to stretch out beside the mountain and surrender himself over to sleep.

“I hate to treat Fekmah that way, but I don’t believe I could make it back,” the youth thought, closing his eyes.

A second later he fell asleep, not to awaken until the sun was well up in the sky.

“Eight o’clock!” he cried, looking at his watch. “By George! I bet Fekmah is throwing a dozen fits.”

Bob at once jumped up and untied his dromedary. He was on the animal in a moment and rode back toward camp.

“I hope I know the way,” he thought, as he was carried to the spot where his father, Mr. Lewis, and Tishmak had been captured.

But the youth had carefully observed the landmarks as they left camp on the search, and had no difficulty in recognizing the way.

First, however, Bob had made a small sketch map of the distant cave in which his father and friend were being held captive. He was positive he could locate it, perhaps without the use of the map.

Bob was now passing up the path that Tishmak had believed made by Tuaregs. For a good distance it would be necessary to follow this lane; then he would turn off on a level stretch.

Suddenly, as Bob made a sharp bend in the path, his jaw fell in surprise and horror.

Not twenty feet away sat a native, a Tuareg, with his back against a low rock. The man was terror-stricken as he watched a long reptile move toward him with a slow, terrible fascination.

That the man knew not what to do, Bob rightly guessed. If he should make the slightest move, the reptile, a deadly horned viper, would strike.

“It’s up to me to come to his rescue,” thought Bob, and, raising his rifle, he took steady aim.

The report of the gun was followed by a terrible twitching of the snake. Meanwhile the Tuareg had jumped in surprise at the sound of the gun and was now looking at his benefactor thankfully.

Bob rode on up to the man and dismounted, to be met by the Tuareg. The latter was of unusual height, towering several inches above Bob, who was himself six feet.

The man quite promptly threw his arms around Bob and hugged him, too thankful for words that he had escaped a terrible death. It was rather embarrassing for the young American, but he smiled modestly and passed the thanks aside as best he could.

Finally the Tuareg stood away and motioned for Bob to follow him up the path. The youth did as directed, even though he was anxious about getting back to camp.

As Bob followed his newly made friend up the lane, he took note of the man’s dress. He was garbed in a loose black robe, which reached almost to his feet. On his chest were numerous decorations that distinguished him as a man of some importance among his people. What seemed most unusual was a black veil that covered his face, leaving little more than his eyes visible. On his head was a strange high cap of black and white.

“Quite a specimen,” thought Bob. “And evidently a chief or nobleman.”

Ten minutes of walking brought them to the top of the hill. Then, as they moved around a large rock, Bob caught sight of several tents placed about a hundred yards apart on a vast plain.

Several natives came running out, followed by a score more. They rushed forward as they caught sight of Bob and his friend.

The latter at once spoke excitedly to his fellow people, and Bob rightly guessed that he was telling of being saved from the snake by the white youth.

When the man had finished, the Tuaregs looked at Bob with gratitude and admiration. They asked him by signs to come into their tent village, and he did so.

“Wish I could speak some of their language,” he thought, as he was being shown the various things about the tents.

It now became apparent that the man whom Bob had saved from death was the chieftain of the tribe, as he was held in high esteem by all. And no one else wore such decorations as did he.

Suddenly a thought struck Bob, and he smiled in renewed hope. Perhaps it would be possible to engage the aid of these Tuaregs in rescuing his friends from the Arabs. Could it be worked?

Bob was now extremely anxious to get back to camp, for he knew that Dr. Kirshner had prepared a paper with many Tuareg words on it for reference. The youth would get that paper and then come back and ask for help in rescuing his father and the others. Perhaps they would be willing to give aid.

As best he could, Bob told the Tuaregs by signs that he must be leaving, and it was evident that they understood. With a last farewell, the youth turned his dromedary away.

His hopes were high as he rapidly covered ground toward camp. Before coming across these Tuaregs, Bob was in doubt as to whether he could tackle so many of the Arabs alone in order to rescue his father and friends. Now, with the prospects of getting aid from the Tuaregs, the future looked brighter.

“Still they might not be willing to help,” he thought. “But at least I can ask them.”

After winding in and out among the huge rocks and peaks for well over an hour, Bob turned his camel up a little hill and came in sight of camp.

How good it looked! Since his friends had been captured by the Arabs, the youth had had an uneasy feeling that perhaps he could not find his way back.

“Where’s Fekmah, I wonder,” he mused, looking about.

A moment later the Arab came running up, delighted beyond words at again seeing him alive and well.

“What kept you away so long?” Fekmah asked. “And where are the others?”

Bob’s face darkened. He told of his father, Mr. Lewis, and Tishmak being captured by the Arabs, and of his own good fortune in getting away.

“But,” he said, “I have a plan to bring about their rescue.”

“What is it?” Fekmah waited breathlessly.

“On the way back to camp this morning, I came upon some Tuaregs who live in a tent village several miles from here. They were very friendly and wanted me to stay longer, but I told them I had to get back.

“Now Dr. Kirshner has a paper with a good many Tuareg words on it. I remember hearing him tell about it several days ago. If we can find that, everything will probably be all right. We’ll take it with us to their village and ask them in their own language to help us. How does it sound?”

“Very good,” Fekmah returned. “But do you think they will?”

“Won’t do any harm to find out,” Bob said, going in the tent.

Dr. Kirshner’s large satchel was on a box, and the young man at once took it down and searched its contents for the paper of Tuareg words. His nerves were on edge with a terrible fear that perhaps it would not be there.

Papers and books and pamphlets were all taken out and hastily read. Scarcely would the youth glance at one sheet when he would pick up another. Under ordinary circumstances, Dr. Kirshner would not have permitted anyone to go through his belongings, but now it was a case of necessity.

Suddenly Bob straightened up in great relief. He had at last found the object of his search.

“Here it is,” he said to Fekmah, who was standing beside him. “A translation of about three hundred Tuareg words. Now I guess we’ll fool those Arab crooks.”

Bob had had nothing to eat that morning, and he was very hungry. He lost no time in preparing a satisfying breakfast. When he had finished eating, he turned to Fekmah.

“Now,” he said, “I’m going to that Tuareg village and ask for aid in rescuing Dad and the others. You had better stay here with the camels and supplies, hadn’t you? It would probably mean tragedy for us if anything should happen to them.”

“Yes,” the Arab returned, “I will stay. And I not afraid that you will fail.”

“I’ll try not to,” Bob said, getting on his dromedary.

With a warm farewell the youth rode off at a rapid pace. His mind was desperately set upon a purpose. He would rescue his father and friends if he had to do it himself.

The Tuareg village was several miles away, but his fleet-footed camel covered the distance in no time.

“Here’s where I get busy with this new dialect,” Bob thought, getting out the paper of native words.

A score or more Tuaregs came running up, led by the chieftain, whom Bob had saved from death previously. The people shouted sincere welcomes.

Bob glanced down at the paper and found a few words for casual conversation. They were not difficult to pronounce, and the effect upon the natives was astounding. They were indeed surprised to find that this white youth could speak any of their language.

But before long Bob got to the purpose. There was one word that stood out in his mind more prominently than any of the others. It was reeskra (help).

As best he could, the young American picked out several words and put them in sentences. He outlined briefly and simply that his father and friends were being held captives in a cave not a great distance away. If the Tuaregs would give aid, they would be rewarded. Would they help?

The result of his request was instantaneous. The Tuareg men, nearly all six-footers, waved their guns in the air and commanded Bob to lead them to the cave where the whites were being guarded.

A thrill of joy ran through Bob’s veins, and he ordered his dromedary to move forward. At last his father and friends would be released.