A wondrous dawn, all mingled of scarlet, orange, and vivid yellows, with streaks of absinthe hue, burned up over the desert world.  It showed Nissr about as she had been the night before; for the simoom had not thrashed up sea enough—­offshore, as it had been—­to break up the partial wreck.

The air-liner had, however, settled down a good deal in the sand, and had canted at a sharp angle to port.  Her galleries, fuselage, and wings were heavily laden with sand that materially increased her weight; and to the casual eye she gave the impression of a bird which never again would soar on level wing.

The major voiced discouragement, but no one shared it.  Spirits were still high, in spite of thirst and exhaustion, and of the losses already sustained in men and material.  Lombardo and “Captain Alden” had patched up the wounded in rough, first-aid fashion; and they, in spite of pain, shared the elation of the others in the entire wiping-out of the Beni Harb.

As soon as the light permitted operations to begin again, the Legion trekked over to the Arabs’ former lines.  Nothing now remained to tell them of the enemy, save here or there the flutter of a bit of burnous or cherchia (head-dress), that fluttered from the white sand now all ribbed in lovely scollops like the waves of a moveless sea.  In one spot a naked brown arm and hand were projecting heavenward, out of the sand-ocean, as if in mute appeal to Allah.

The Legionaries heaped sand on this grim bit of death, completely burying it, and on the fluttering cloths.  And as they peered abroad across the desert, in the glory of morning, now nothing could be seen to mind them of the fighting-men who, like the host of Sennacherib, had been brushed by the death-angel’s wing.

The jackals knew, though, and the skulking hyenas, already sneaking in the nullahs; and so did the rion and the yellow ukab-birds—­carrion-fowl, both—­which already from the farthest blue, had begun to wheel and volplane toward the coast.

Back on the beach, exultant, yet rather silent in the face of all that death, the Legion at once got itself into action under the vigorous command of the Master.  Twenty-three men were still fit and active for service; and both Enemark and Lebon would in a few days be of help.

“Man-power enough,” thought the Master, as he laid out his campaign.  “The only troublesome factors, are, first, Nissr’s condition; second, our lack of water and supplies; and third, the possibility of interference from Arabs or European forces, by land or sea.  If we can overcome all these—­if, did I say?  We can!  We will!”

First of all, three volunteers swam out to Nissr through the surf now again beating in from the open sea.  Their purpose was to bring the wounded Kloof ashore.  Even though Kloof’s oversight of the stowaway had wrecked the expedition, and though Kloof would probably be executed in due time, common humanity dictated succoring him.