“Come on, Dan, here’s where the fun begins,” cried Dick Oakwood.

By the light of pitch torches he reviewed his army, the Taharans under Raal; blond, stalwart fighters; and the Gorols, commanded by Kulki.

The Gorols were more numerous but though they were tough and wiry fellows, they were not equal to the Taharans in size or war-like powers. Dark-skinned and hairy, they resembled an army of giant apes as they slouched in the ranks, while the Taharans stood proudly upright and at their chief’s signal, raised their stone weapons aloft and gave a mighty cheer.

Dick, with Dan beside him as his chief lieutenant, gave final instructions to his two troop leaders.

“You, Kulki, go first with your Gorols. Climb silently down the cliffs to the south of the Big Spring where the Arabs are camped. When you are all on the plain, light your torches, plant them in the ground among the brush and raise a great uproar of shouting the war cries. Do you understand?”

“I understand, O Tahara!”

“Then when the Arabs rush to attack you, meet them with a shower of arrows and quietly climb part way up the cliffs. Leave the torches in the ground to deceive the Arabs and as they charge upon that spot, you can shoot at them from the cliffside with more arrows.”

“I hear, Master, I obey!” said Kulki.

“Good! Make sure that every man knows what he is to do.”

Dick turned to Raal and continued:

“You, Raal, take your brave Taharans down the cliff to the north of the Arab camp. Be quiet and give no alarm. Then when the Gorols raise the war cry and the Arabs rush to fight them off, follow with your Taharans and attack the enemy from the rear. Use bows and arrows first; then rush in with stone axes and flint knives. In a hand-to-hand fight, their long guns will be useless.”

“I hear, Master. I rejoice in a hand-to-hand battle.”

“Good! I will be in a position to oversee the battle, for Dan and I will climb down the cliff above the Big Spring, and when your Taharans charge, I will join you.”

Dan reminded his friend, “Be sure to tell them about the signal for attack.”

Dick replied. “You are right. This is the signal. You, Kulki, when you reach your position, will give a long call like the hyena. Raal will answer with a wolf howl. When you hear the howl of the wolf, it is the signal to open the battle.”

“I hear, O Tahara.”

“We obey, O Master.”

The two chiefs saluted and withdrew to their troops and the climb down the cliffs began, silently in the night.

Dick and Dan looked down over the edge of the cliffs and saw the camp fires of the Arabs below them, with shadowy figures moving about or squatting by the glowing coals.

Then the two boys began their slow difficult climb down the rocky face, using every care to move quietly. A single rock dislodged and bouncing down the cliffside would put the Arabs on guard and this must be a surprise attack to be a successful one.

When Dick and Dan finally reached a ledge about a hundred feet above the camp, they were only too glad to sit there and rest. The descent of that steep slope in the dark was hard work; their hands were scratched and bleeding and their muscles felt the strain.

“We will just sit here and take it easy for a while,” said Dick.

“It is like being in a circus waiting for the show to begin,” replied Dan. “If only ”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Dick chuckled, “if only we had a couple of bags of peanuts and a bottle of pop, it would be perfect.”

Dan admitted, laughingly, that refreshments would be welcome, but Dick grabbed his friend’s arm.

“Look yonder, Dan.”

“Where?”

“Up near the mouth of Cimbula’s cave. What’s going on there?”

“Men with torches. That’s funny! It’s the wrong direction for the torches to appear.”

“And there has been no signal yet.”

“This is something that is not on the program. Jumping Jiminy! I hope it’s not going to spoil our party.”

Things moved rapidly.

A procession with torches appeared from the wrong direction and at the head of a crowd of grotesquely painted figures, leaped and cavorted an unearthly apparition in feathered head-dress and fur tufts.

“Cimbula!” gasped Dick.

“What is that old fool up to?” Dan exclaimed.

“They are leading some prisoner among them,” said Dick. “It looks like a girl, but her face is covered with her hair.”

“It’s a Taharan girl. Cimbula must be trying to buy off the Arabs with the gift of a slave.”

“What a dog!”

“He is wrecking our whole plan of battle.”

The boys looked on in suspense as the witch-doctor approached the Arab camp, capering and shaking his rattling gourd. The others who followed were imitating him, for Cimbula had decided that a magic dance of demons would terrify the raiders, and therefore he had dressed up a dozen of Wabiti’s men in a garb like his own and painted their bodies with stripes and daubs of white.

Whirling and leaping the demon dancers approached the Arab camp, while one of the natives brandished a flint knife above the head of the bound victim.

“If the Arabs take fright at this hocus-pocus, they are bigger fools than I take them to be,” growled Dick.

“More likely they are laughing at the medicine-man,” Dan exclaimed. “Look, they are rushing the procession.”

With shouts of derision the Arabs leaped to their horses and raced toward the intruders, No shots were fired. The Arabs did not want to kill the demon dancers, but shrieked with laughter as they charged them, bowled over Cimbula and scattered his followers.

“Look,” said Dick. “It’s not a fight. The Arabs are rounding up those fellows. They came here for slaves, and now they have got some.”

“Serves Cimbula right! I hope they keep him at hard labor for life!”

“I’m sorry for the others though. Listen. There goes the first signal!”

From the south came the call of a desert hyena, a long unearthly sound of laughter.

Amid the hubbub of the Arab camp, the signal was not noticed by the enemy, but Raal was evidently on the alert, for soon a long wolf howl answered from the north.

“Good!” cried Dick Oakwood. “Cimbula’s little show did not spoil the big circus, after all. Now Dan, you’re going to see a fight.”

To the south of the camp a torch flared among the brush. Another was lighted and another. Soon the place where the Gorols had assembled was a confusion of dancing lights, flaring and smoking.

A war cry arose among the flames, a shrill cry of “Tahara, Rax!”

“Give ’em the axe!” chuckled Dan. “Atta-boy, Kulki! Now the fun begins.”

A few shots from the Arabs produced an immediate effect among the torches. They no longer moved, but held their places quietly.

“Get that?” muttered Dick. “Kulki’s men stuck their torches in the ground. Now they must be climbing up the cliffs in the dark.”

As the Arab horsemen charged the brush where the torches flamed they were met by a stinging shower of arrows coming from unseen foes. At once their cries of “Allah, il Allah,” were changed to howls of anger and shrieks from the wounded. Yet they charged on, shooting at the torches and driving ahead with flashing scimiters.

But the Gorols were not near the torches and shot more and more arrows from places of safety.

“Give ’em the axe!” cried Dan. “Here come the Taharans!”

As he spoke, Raal’s men raced in open formation upon the disorganized Arabs, only pausing long enough to discharge a flight of arrows at the enemy.

Now the Arabs, caught between two attacking troops, were at a loss which way to face.

Dick, with Dan at his heels, scrambled down from the ledge of the cliff side and joined the Taharans with the war cry:

“Tahara Rax!”

“Give ’em the axe!” echoed Dan.

“The axe!”

“The axe, the axe!”

The terrifying shouts of the Taharans, charging upon the Arabs, drowned out the battle cry of, “Allah il Allah.”

Hand to hand the Stone-Age men struggled fiercely with the Bedouins, leaping at them like wild cats, pulling them from their mounts, swinging their keen-edged hatchets of flint and their short knives of stone with deadly effect.

All the advantage of gunpowder and horses was lost in that battle in the dark.

The Arabs fought madly with their swords and daggers, but such weapons were not much more effective than the stone knives and axes. Therefore the Arabs began to give away, for their raid had been upon supposedly weak tribesmen, and instead they were facing better fighters than themselves.

Yet stubbornly they fought on. There was nothing else to do a case of kill or be killed.

“Give it to ’em!” cried Dick.

“Give ’em the axe,” shouted Dan.

“Let out your bull-roaring voice,” said Dick to Raal. “Call the Gorols to join in!”

Raal gave a war cry that summoned Kulki and his Gorols to clamber down from the rocks and take part in the battle.

From the ledges of the cliff came the shrill reply of Kulki’s dark-skinned fighters, and instantly the Arabs were engaged in a life-and-death struggle with new forces.

The Gorols plunged into the fray, carrying their lances, and whenever the burnous of an Arab showed pale in the darkness, a Gorol plunged his spearhead with telling effect.

“Go it, Gorols!” shouted Dan.

“Give ’em the axe!” Dick cried. “After them, boys! They’re giving way.”

The tide of battle had turned against the raiders. The Arabs on the fringe of the fray turned their horses toward the desert and galloped away. The Bedouins who were guarding the prisoners mounted them on the camels and fled in a body. Abdul and Suli swore by Allah and his prophet that they would return and take vengeance on the tribe, but they saw that the battle was lost.

Many of their men had been slain or badly wounded, and their horses were running wild in the melee; there was no chance to organize their force, for wherever they turned were the hatchets of the Taharans and the spears of the Gorols.

“Give it to ’em!” shouted Dick. “We’ve got ’em on the run.”

“Back to home-sweet-home!” laughed Dan. “They want you back in dear old Araby.”

Abdul shouted the signal to retreat. Those Arabs who could escape did so without a second command and the battle was over.

Dick and Dan both caught at the bridles of Arab horses and succeeded in capturing mounts, but there was no use in giving chase in the dark.

“Tell your men to get all the guns and weapons they can,” Dick ordered the chiefs of the two tribes. “And catch all the horses you can.”

“We hear, O Master!”

“Tahara has brought us victory. Praise to our king!”

The chiefs answered with shouts of triumph and the tribesmen joined in. No longer was there any doubt in their minds, Tahara, Boy King of the Desert, was a mighty warrior and a bringer of victory.

The rising sun showed Taharans and Gorols in fantastic array beside the Big Spring. They were dressed in such parts of the Arab garb as they had captured, and carried what weapons had been found on the battlefield.

A dozen guns and horses were among the loot, also ammunition, daggers and swords. Even a camel had been taken, but it was lame from a shot, and was promptly butchered for a feast.

While they were all enjoying a hot meal that morning, Dick explained to the natives who had captured the guns, how to use them, but the old-fashioned fire-arms were not of much value except to the Arabs who were used to them.

After breakfast, he showed the most intelligent of the tribesmen how to ride the captured horses. They were fearless fellows and managed to stay on, somehow, and Kulki, who was one of the best men of the tribe, showed promise of becoming an expert horseman in short order.

“Wait until we round up the wild horses and break them!” said Dan. “Then you will see some fun.”

Dick explained to Raal, who was keen to learn the new sport, the principles of taming and riding unbroken horses and the Taharan chief was eager to begin.

With a deep bow he begged Dick to accept an Arab gun he had captured and declared that when his tribe had learned to ride the wild horses, they would all set out to find the Arabs and raid them in turn.

Suddenly they were interrupted. Queen Vanga came to them, weeping and tearing her hair.

“Cimbula is gone!” she cried. “Where is Cimbula?”

Dan laughed.

“Your boy-friend was taken by the Arabs,” he said. “You’ll never see him again.”

“I hope not,” said Dick.

“The Arabs will put him on the chain gang,” chuckled Dan.

“Never!” cried the old queen when Dan’s remark was explained to her. “Cimbula works strong magic. If he is taken by the Arabs, Cimbula will become their chief.”

“There may be something in that,” said Dan. “The witch-doctor is clever enough to get out of any kind of a scrape.”

Vanga began weeping afresh.

“Why the water-works now?” asked Dan.

Raal questioned her and his face grew red with fury.

“Veena has been stolen,” he cried. “The girl with Cimbula was the Princess Veena.”

Dan felt his heart stand still. The pretty little maiden, a prisoner of the Arabs! She was fond of him and while he did not love her, he resolved that she must be rescued.

“Let me have a horse,” cried Raal. “I will catch up with the Arabs and bring her back.”

He was beside himself with fury. “Tahara, O Mighty King, use all your magic to save the girl I love.”

Dick grasped his hand and promised: “I will help you!”

“Now, let us start now.”

“We will all go!” cried Dan Carter.

“Yes! All, all!” echoed the warriors. Tahara and Gorols alike were excited by the news. The capture of Cimbula and his followers was not so bad, for everybody dreaded the witch-doctor and his disciples were hated.

But Veena was a favorite of all.

“We will take the captured horses!” urged Raal, “and overtake the raiders.”

“Those are bold words,” said Dick, “but they are not the words of wisdom. Stop and think. Ten men at the most against a hundred! What chance would you have?”

“We will risk it,” Raal stormed.

“And lose all chance of rescuing Veena? No. We must prepare for a long journey first and at the end a hard battle.”

“How long must we wait?”

“Until our warriors have tamed wild horses and learned to ride them. Also we must carry food and water bags for a long trail across the desert.”

Raal was in despair.

“And until then, we will know nothing of the maiden. I would rather set out alone than that.”

At his words, all fell silent, thinking gloomy thoughts. Finally Dick said:

“Here is a way out. Kulki can ride better than any of the tribesmen, and has ventured farther on the desert than the rest.”

“That is true!” cried Kulki. “Let me go out and rescue the maiden.”

“Not so fast. Take three of your men who can stay on horseback. Carry water and food and follow the trail of the raiders. Can you try?”

“We will do that, O Master!”

“Do not try to fight the Arabs, that would only put them on their guard. But find out where they are taking the captives and bring us word. Will you?”

“Gladly, O Master.”

“By the time you return,” added Dick Oakwood, “I will have our warriors trained to ride the wild horses and to shoot arrows while they ride, yes and to throw spears from the saddle.”

“Tahara, hal!”

“Then we will set out and punish the raiders!”

“Tahara Rax! The axe! The axe!”

With shouts of vengeance, the tribesmen accepted Dick’s plan. Even Raal, anxious as he was to set out at once, saw the wisdom of the plan.

“But I would go with Kulki. Now!” he begged.

“If you did, what would happen? You would try to fight the Arabs then and there. All would be lost.”

Raal agreed.

“Let me work day and night getting ready for the rescue!” he exclaimed. “Then I will not grieve.”

“We will begin now,” Dick answered.

“You will be chief horse-breaker,” Dan assured Raal. “In a week you’ll be a regular Arizona bronco-buster.”

Kulki and his chosen three began preparations for the trail at once. That same day they set out, mounted on Arab horses and carrying water and food. Kulki refused a gun. The “stick that spoke like thunder” was a magic he did not understand.

As for Raal and his Taharans, they wasted no time but set to work rounding up all the small wild horses that they could find among the hills, while Dan and Dick showed the others how to build a corral for the animals.