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It seemed to him, there in the dark and stillness, one of the fateful moments of time, pregnant with possibilities unlimited. The Master, Alden, Rrisa, mere vague blurs among the ferns, remained motionless. If their nerves were a-tingle, they gave no hint or sign of it. Where might the others of the Legion be? No indication of them could be made out.
As the cliff drew near, its black brows ate across the sky, devouring stars. The Master spoke in Arabic to Rrisa, who seized a boat hook and came forward. Out of the gloom small wharf advanced to meet the launch. The boat-hook caught; the launch, easing to a stop, cradled against the stringpiece. Rrisa held with the hook, while Bohannan and Alden clambered out.
On the tray stood also a small cup having no handle; a dish of dates; a few wafers made of the Arabian cereal called temmin; and a little bowl of khat leaves. He placed the tray on the table at his master's side, and was about to withdraw when the other stayed him with raised hand. "Tell me, Rrisa," he commanded, still speaking in Arabic, "where wert thou born? Show thou me, on that map."
I hardly see that we have so very much to complain of, so far." He turned, pulled a blanket from his berth and carefully spread it over the loot on the table. Then he pushed the button communicating with the cabin wherein Rrisa was still quivering as a result of having heard the fusillades and the terrific tumult unseen though they had been to him at Mecca.
Before the Master left, he bent and seemed to be manipulating something in the bottom of the launch. Then he stepped to the engine. "Out, Rrisa," he commanded, "and hold hard with the hook, now!" The Arab obeyed. All at once the propeller churned water, reversed. The Master leaped to the wharf. "Let go and throw the hook into the boat!" he ordered.
To the major: "Collect a dozen lethal guns and bring them to me!" When the guns were at hand, the Master apportioned them between Leclair, Rrisa, and himself. With the one apiece they already had, each man carried five of the guns, in pockets and in belt. The small remaining stock of lethal pellets were distributed and the weapons fully loaded.
Staring, blinking, trying to shelter his eyes against the demons of the storm, the Master turned toward him. "What, Rrisa?" Down into the wady stumbled the Arab, gray-powdered with clinging sand. "Oh," he choked, "it has been taken from these yezid, these abusers of the salt! Now we rescue it from these cut-off ones!
Tell me, did thy great prophet, M'hámed, ever ride in such state through the air? Was Al Burak, his magic horse, on which he traveled to the paradise of the houris, more swift or mighty than this steed of mine?" The Master speaking Arabic, weighted every word with its full meaning. "Tell me, Rrisa, what of all this?" "Your steed is very swift and very mighty.
He began feeling in the bosom of the old man, opening the cloaklike burnous and exploring the neck and chest with eager fingers. "If we could only lay hands on the fabled loot of the Haram!" he whispered, his voice tense with excitement. Rrisa, wide-eyed, with curling lips of scorn, peered down at the Sheik.
With trembling lips he made answer: "This city spare me uttering its name, Master! lies many hours' journey, even by this Eagle of the Sky, beyond the Iron Mountains that no man of the Feringi hath ever seen. It lies beyond the Great Sand Barrier, in a valley of the Inner Mountains; yea, at the very heart of Ruba el Khali." "I hear thee, Rrisa. Speak further. And let thy speaking be truth!"
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