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He picked up one of the two remaining wine-sacks, and put it into her hands. "Cling to this, through everything!" he commanded. "Cling, as you love life. Cling, as you share my hope for what may be, if life is granted us! And the mercy-bullet, if it comes to that! "Now good-bye!" She smiled silently and was gone. The Master, now all alone, stood waiting yet a moment. His face was bloodless.
People who glory in murdering the 'idolators of Feringistan, as they call us white men! Let me advise you now, my Captain, when dealing with these people or fighting them, never use your last shot on them. Always keep a mercy-bullet in your gun!" "A mercy-bullet?" "For yourself!"
They captured us only because our last cartridges were gone." "You did not save the mercy-bullet that time, eh?" "I did not, Effendi. I did not know them then as I do now. They thought our plane was some gigantic bird. "Superstition festers in their very bones! The giant bird, they believed, would ruin their date crops; and, besides, they thirsted for the blood of the Franks.
"Just one other word," the Master continued, his voice calm, unshaken, quite impersonal. "If science fails, do not allow yourselves to be captured. The tortures of Hell await any white man taken by these fanatics. Remember, always keep one mercy-bullet for yourselves!" Another little silence. Then the chief said: "I am going to take two men and undertake what seems a preposterous attack.
Here was a woman, not only exposed to risks of death, but also of capture by Orientals and what it might mean to a white woman to be seized for some hidden harem in Jannati Shahr the Master knew only too well. He found a moment's pause to speak in a low tone to the "captain," unheard by any of the others. "Remember the mercy-bullet!" said he.
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