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Updated: October 9, 2026
The Master saw him in the wady, dimly visible through the ghostly white sand-shrouds spinning in the blue-whipped fire-glare. There on hands and knees the lieutenant was huddled. With eager hands he was tearing the hood of a za'abut a rough, woolen slave cloak, patched and ragged from the face of a prostrate figure more than half snowed under a sand-drift. "Nom de Dieu!" the Master heard him cry.
"More gladly than to live myself! Still, I obey. I go, I bring him safe to you, O Master!" He salaamed, turned, and vanished up over the edge of the wady. The lieutenant, warned of the danger of sand-breathing by an unconscious man, drew the hood of the woollen za'abut up over the face of Lebon. There was nothing more he could do for the poor fellow.