The Master nodded.

“It is an old trick,” said he, indifferently.  “I have seen hawks, much larger, come from under smaller cloths even in the great suk (market-place) at Cairo.”

Bara Miyan made no answer.  The imams drew knives from their belts of plaited goat-hide, and without more ado severed the birds’ heads.

This the Legionaries saw with perfect distinctness.  The blood on the feathers was entirely visible.  The bodies quivered.  Calmly the imams, with reddened hands, now cut wings and legs from the bodies.  They laid these dead fragments on the blood-stained cloths in front of them.

“Let every Frank behold!” exclaimed the Olema.  The Legionaries drew near.  The imams gathered up the fragments in the cloths.

“Now,” said the Master, “thine imams will toss these cloths in the air, and three whole birds will fly away.  The cloths will fall to earth, white as snow.  Is that not thy magic?”

Bara Miyan glowered at him with evil eyes.  Not yet had his self-control been lost; but this mocking of the unbeliever had kindled wrath.  The Master, however, wise in the psychology of the Arab, only laughed.

“This is very old magic,” said he.  “It is told of in the second chapter of Al Koran, entitled ‘The Cow;’ only when Ibrahim did this magic he used four birds.  Well, Bara Miyan, command thine imams to do this ancient magic!”

The sharp click of a switch on the control-board sounded as the imams picked up the little, red-dripping bundles.  Silently they threw these into the air and—­all three dropped back to earth again, just as they had risen.

A growl burst, involuntarily, from the Olema’s corded throat.  The growl echoed through the massed horsemen.  Bara Miyan’s hand went to the butt of his pistol, half glimpsed under his jacket.  That hand fell, numb.

“Look, O Sheik!” exclaimed the Master, pointing.  The Olema turned; and there on the highest minaret of gold, the green flag had begun smoldering.  As Brodeur adjusted his ray-focusser, the banner of the Prophet burst into bright flame, and went up in a puff of fire.

Only by setting teeth into his lip could the Sheik repress a cry.  Dark of face, he turned to the Master.  Smiling, the Master asked: 

“Perhaps now, O Bara Miyan, thou wouldst ask thine imams to plant a date-stone, and make it in a few minutes bear fruit, even as the Prophet himself did?  Try, if thou hast better fortune than with the birds!  But have care not to be led into committing sin, as with these birds—­for remember, thou hast shed blood and life hath not returned again, and El Barr is sacred from the shedding of blood!”

His tone was well calculated to make the lesson sink well to the Olema’s heart—­a valuable lesson for the Legion’s welfare.  But the Olema only replied: 

“The blood of believers is meant.  Not of animals—­or Franks!”