Maldar and his Khouan followers had reached the desert with their captive. For a long time they heard Monte-Cristo and his men in hot pursuit of them, but the sound, growing fainter and fainter, had finally ceased. The Sultan concluded that the Count had been misled by some fancied indication and had taken a wrong direction. He therefore gave himself no further concern in regard to him. Once in the desert he slackened the pace of his Arab steed and the Khouans imitated his example. The party rode on for several miles when they arrived at a small oasis, covered with tall palm trees, that resembled an island of verdure amid the far-reaching waste of arid sand. There Maldar gave the order to dismount. The Khouans sprang lightly from their weary horses, both men and animals going directly to the wells, where they took long draughts of the cool, refreshing water. The night was now far spent, and as the abductors of Esperance threw themselves upon the grass surrounding the wells, the first rosy streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern heavens. The horses stood cropping the verdure for a brief period, then they also lay down for rest and recuperation. Soon slumber reigned supreme, for Maldar, fearing neither pursuit nor attack, had not taken the precaution to post sentinels. The scarf had been removed from Esperance's mouth, and the son of Monte-Cristo, still wrapped in his lethargic sleep, lay on the sod beside Maldar near one of the wells. It was a wild and picturesque group, such a group as would have filled the soul of a painter with delight and inspiration.

As the light increased, but while it was yet vague and uncertain, giving a demoniac and supernatural cast to the group and its tropical surroundings, Esperance suddenly awoke and raised himself upon his elbow. For an instant he gazed around him in bewilderment and terror. Was he dead, and were those swarthy-visaged forms extended motionless on the grass of the oasis the forms of fiends? This thought shot through his mind and augmented his consternation. When he fell asleep he was with his father, with the dauntless Monte-Cristo, and the last faces he had seen were the faces of French people and friends. Now he was in the midst of beings of another race, in the midst of strangers. Strangers? No, for at that moment his eyes rested on Maldar, and he realized that he was again in the clutches of his remorseless foe, and that the men around him belonged to the dreaded Khouan tribe.

He was unbound; nothing restrained his movements and not a single guard was watching over him. His fear vanished with his bewilderment and gave place to heroic resolution. Why should he not escape and make his way back to his beloved father and devoted countrymen? He arose cautiously to his feet, and peered into the distance. His heart throbbed with anguish, for beyond the narrow confines of the green oasis, as far as his eye could reach, stretched the trackless sands of the arid and inhospitable desert. Flight would be madness, nay, perhaps, death, but would it not also be death to remain? The son of Monte-Cristo, full of his father's unconquerable spirit, determined to take the chances of flight. Doubtless Monte-Cristo and his friends were even now scouring the desert in search of him. If he could mount one of the Khouans' horses and escape from the hands of his fanatical foes, he might meet them.

Esperance stole cautiously toward an Arab courser, but he had not taken a dozen steps when Maldar awoke, leaped to his feet, ran to him and laid an iron hand upon his shoulder.

"So you thought to escape me, did you, son of Monte-Cristo?" said the Sultan, with a mocking laugh and a fiendish light in big eyes. "By the beard of the Prophet, your presumption is unbounded! But you are mine, and no power on earth can save you now!"

The heroic lad gazed full in Maldar's face and, without the quiver of a muscle, answered defiantly:

"Wretch that you are to war on defenceless children, I do not fear you! Harm but a single hair of my head, and Monte-Cristo will grind you into dust!"

Maldar replied with a sneer: "Monte-Cristo, the infidel charlatan, is miles away. With all his boasted power he can do nothing to aid you. I have you now, and you shall die!"

With the quickness of lightning Esperance thrust out his hand, seizing the Sultan's jeweled yataghan and drawing it from its scabbard. At the same time he raised it above his head and brought it down, aiming it straight at Maldar's heart. The Sultan parried the thrust with his arm, receiving a gaping wound from which the blood gushed in a ruby stream. Smarting with pain and foaming with rage, he threw himself upon the daring boy, tore the yataghan from his grasp, and with its heavy handle struck him a blow on the head that stretched him senseless at his feet.

The noise of the conflict awoke the Khouans, who sprang up and rushed to their chief.

One of them drew a long-bladed knife and was about to stab the prostrate and unconscious boy, but the Sultan restrained him with an impatient gesture.

"Not here," said he. "The sacrifice can only be made in the mosque of the Khouans, thrice dedicated to Mohammed and reserved for the holiest rite of Islam, the rite of vengeance!" Motioning to the Khouan to take the insensible boy from the ground, he added "Now to horse and for the mosque. Bear our captive in your arms."

The Arabs mounted and were soon dashing across the desert, headed by the Sultan, who had hastily stanched the blood flowing from his arm and bound up the wound.

Half an hour later, Monte-Cristo and his men reached the oasis. The Count and Captain Joliette rode to the wells and at once saw where the grass had been beaten down by the Khouans and their horses.

"They have been here and recently, too," said Captain Joliette.

"Thank God!" said Monte-Cristo, fervently. "We are on their track! But what is that?" he added. "Is it blood?"

Coucon and Fanfar, who had been attentively examining the stain, simultaneously answered:

"It is blood."

"My God!" cried Monte-Cristo, with a convulsive start, "then they have slain my son!"

"Not so, Count," said Captain Joliette. "Had they slain Esperance they would have left his body here. But see," resumed he, pointing to the spot where Esperance had made the attack on Maldar; "here are evidences of a struggle; they have fought among themselves and one of them has been wounded."

"Heaven grant it may be so!" said Monte-Cristo.

The party started off again, following the track of the Arabs' horses, and after an hour's ride came in sight of a long, low building with a gleaming minaret, standing alone in the midst of the desert.

"The mosque of the Khouans!" cried Captain Joliette, triumphantly. "Maldar and his ruffians are there! Look! Yonder are their horses!"

Monte-Cristo and his men reached the building and leaped to the ground; they left their panting animals in charge of Bobichel, and, drawing their revolvers, made their way into the mosque.

There a sight met their eyes that almost froze the blood in their veins.

Esperance, with his hands tied behind him and stripped to the waist, was kneeling upon a large, flat stone in the centre of the mosque. Over him stood Maldar, his yataghan uplifted to strike. The four Khouans stood at a short distance, chanting what was evidently a death-hymn.

Instantly Monte-Cristo aimed his weapon at the Sultan and fired. Maldar fell dead beside his intended victim.

The other Arabs leaped through the open windows and, mounting their horses, fled across the desert.

Monte-Cristo caught his son in his arms.

"Esperance, my beloved!" he cried.

"Father!" exclaimed the rescued lad, clasping his arms about Monte-Cristo's neck.

Esperance's garments were quickly restored to him by Fanfar, and when he was clad in them, the party again mounted and started on their return to the colonist's farm.

There is no need to describe the toilsome journey, it was accomplished in due time, and once more Esperance was safe in his father's care.

The ladies gave the heroes of the expedition a most enthusiastic welcome, Miss Elphys shedding tears of joy as Esperance told her how his heroic father had saved him from death at Maldar's hands.

The next evening, when the excitement had somewhat subsided and Monte-Cristo and his men had fully recovered from their fatigue, Fanfar began the story of his life, which will be related in the succeeding chapters.