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Updated: June 4, 2025
As the last man ran across the bridge on the heels of his comrades, Zeneta looked across the valley towards the water mill. He waved his handkerchief high above his head. A little flag fluttered above the trees growing round the mill-wheel. Cousin Peligros being only human now came to the terrace to see what was happening.
The hearts of the youthful Bedouins were touched with compassion at these words, and they marveled that one so young and gentle should have suffered such great sorrow and persecution. Abderahman sat by the well and mused for a time. At length, breaking silence, "In the midst of Mauritania," said he, "dwells the tribe of Zeneta.
"Marcos," she said, in the hall, having closed the dining-room door behind her. "Will you tell me what time it will begin?" "Zeneta is timed to retreat across the bridge at three o'clock. The enemy will, it is hoped, follow him." "And where will you be?" "I shall be with Pacheco and his staff on the hill behind Pedro's mill. You will see a little flag wherever Pacheco is."
"Zeneta is retreating slowly before the enemy, with his small force," explained Marcos. "But why is he doing that? He must surely know that there are ladies at Torre Garda." "Ladies are not articles of war," said Juanita with a frivolous disregard of Cousin Peligros' reproving face. "And this is war." As she spoke Marcos rose and quitted the room after glancing at his watch. Juanita followed him.
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