“Lah!  I am not thinking of the Sahara.  The goal lies far beyond—­far to eastward.”

“Still, the folk are Arabs there, too.  They would hear of this, and bow to you, my M’alme!”

“Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  I can take no chances, Rrisa.  The land, here and to the eastward, might all arise against us.  The tribes might come against us like the rakham, the carrion-vultures.  No, we must kill and kill, so that no man remaineth here—­none save old Abd el Rahman, if Allah deliver him into our hands!”

“That is your firm command, Master?”

“My firm command!”

“To hear the Master is to obey.  But first, grant me time for my isha, my evening prayer!”

“It is granted.  And, Rrisa, there is the kiblah, the direction of Mecca!”

The Master pointed exactly east.  Rrisa faced that way, knelt, prostrated himself.  He made ablution with sand, as Mohammed allows when water cannot be found.  Even as he poured it down his face, the strangely gusting wind flicked it away in little whirls.

CHAPTER XXV

THE GREAT PEARL STAB

The Master began to feel a peculiar anxiety.  Into the east he peered, where now indeed a low, steady hum was growing audible, as of a million angry spirits swarming nearer.  The stars along that horizon had been blotted out, and something like a dark blanket seemed to be drawing itself across the sky.

“My Captain,” said the lieutenant, “there may be trouble brewing, close at hand.  A sand-storm, unprotected as we are—­”

“Men with stern work to do cannot have time to fear the future!”

Leclair grew silent.  Rrisa alone was speaking, now.  With a call of “Ya Latif!” (O Merciful One!) he had begun the performance of his ceremony, with rigid exactness.  He ended with another prostration and the usual drawing down of the hands over the face.  Then he arose, took up his javelin again, and with a clear conscience—­since now his rites had all been fulfilled—­cried aloud: 

“Now, Master, I am ready for the work of helping Azrael, the death-angel, separate the souls and bodies of these Shiah heretics!”

A sudden howling of a jackal startled Rrisa.  He quivered and stood peering into the night, where now the unmistakable hum of an approaching sand-storm was drawing near.  His superstitious soul trembled with the old belief of his people that creatures of the dog breed can see Azrael, invisible to human eyes.  At thought of the death-angel standing nigh, his heart quaked; but rage and hate inspired him, and he muttered: 

“Fire to your bellies, broiling in white flame!  Fuel of Jehannum, may Eblis be your bed, an unhappy couch!  Spawn of Shaytan (Satan), boiling water to cool your throats!  At Al Hakkat (judgment day) may the jinnee fly away with you!”

“To work, men!” cried the Master.  “There is great work to do!”