The Master’s voice held a quiet menace that by no means escaped Bara Miyan.  Level-eyed, he gazed at the white man.  Then he advanced two paces, and in a low voice demanded: 

“Abd el Rahman still lives?”

“He lives, Bara Miyan.”

“Where is the Great Apostate?”

“In our flying house, a prisoner.”

“Bismillah!  Deliver him unto me, and thy people and mine shall be as brothers!”

“First let us share the salt!”

Speaking, the Master slid his hand into the same pocket that contained the Great Pearl Star, and took out a small bag of salt.  This he opened, and held out.  Bara Miyan likewise felt in a recess of his many-hued burnous.  For a moment he hesitated as if about to bring out something.  But he only shook his head.

“The salt—­not yet, O White Sheik!” said he.

“We have brought thy people precious gifts,” began the Master, again.  Behind him he heard an impatient whisper—­the major’s voice, quivering with eagerness: 

“Ask him if this place is really all gold!  Faith, if I could only talk their lingo!  Ask him!”

“I shall place you under arrest, if you interfere again,” the Master retorted, without turning round.

“What saith the White Sheik?” asked Bara Miyan, hearing the strange words of a language his ears never before had listened to.

“Only prayer in my own tongue, Bara Miyan.  A prayer that thine and mine may become akhawat"[1]

[Footnote 1:  Friends bound by an oath to an offensive and defensive alliance.]

“Deliver unto me Abd el Rahman, and let thine imams (priests) work stronger magic than mine,” said the old Sheik with great deliberation, “and I will accept thy gifts and we will say:  ‘Nahnu malihin!’ (We have eaten salt together!) And I will make thee gifts greater than thy gifts to me, O White Sheik.  Then thou and thine can fly away to thine own country, and bear witness that there be Arabs who do not love to slay the Feringi, but count all men as brethren.

“But if thou wilt not deliver Abd el Rahman to me, or test thy magic against my magic, then depart now, in peace, before the setting of the sun.  I have spoken!”

“Take him at his word, my Captain!” murmured Leclair.  “We can get no better terms.  Even these are a miracle!”

“My opinion, exactly,” replied the Master, still facing Bara-Miyan, who had now stepped back a few paces and was flanked by two huge Arabs, in robes hardly less chromatic, who had silently advanced.

“I accept,” decided the Master.  He turned, ordered Enemark and L’Heureux to fetch out the Apostate, and then remained quietly waiting.  Silence fell on both sides, for a few minutes.  The Arabs, for the most part, remained staring at Nissr, to them no doubt the greatest miracle imaginable.  Still, minds trained to believe in the magic carpet of Sulayman and quite virgin of any knowledge of machinery, could easily account for the airship’s flying by means of jinnee concealed in its entrails.