[Footnote 1:  Kiman, of hostile tribes.]

[Footnote 2:  Thar, the terrible blood-feud of the Arabs.]

The Master nodded.

“These things be very clear to my heart,” he answered.  “They shall be treasured in my memory.”

“It is well.  Now speak we of the gifts.”

The fixed attention of the Arabs told the Legionaries, despite their ignorance of Arabic, that at last the important negotiation of the reward was under way.  Pipes and cigarettes smoldered, unsmoked; all eyes turned eagerly toward the Master and Bara Miyan.  Silence fell upon the banquet-hall, where still the thin, perfumed incense-smoke writhed aloft and where still the motionless Maghrabi men stood in those ominous lines along the silk-tapestried walls.

“And what things,” began the Olema, “doth thy heart desire, in this city of Jannati Shahr?  Tell thy wish, and perchance it shall be granted thee!”

The Master paused, deliberately.  Well he understood the psychological value of slow action in dealing with Orientals.  Bargaining, with such, is a fine art.  Haste, greed, eagerness defeat themselves.

Contemplatively the Master chewed a khat leaf, then smiled a very little, and asked: 

“Is it permitted to tell thee that this gold, of which thou hast carved thy city—­this gold which to thee is as stones and earth to the people of Feringistan—­hath great value with us?”

“It is permitted, O Frank.  This thing we already know.”  The old man frowned ominously.  “Dost thou ask gold?”

The Master nerved himself for the supreme demand, success in which would mean fortune beyond all calculation, power and wealth to shame all plutocrats.

“Gold?” he repeated.  “Yea, that is what we ask!  Gold!  Give unto us what gold our flying house can carry hence to our own land beyond the salted seas, and we will depart.  Before the rising of the stars we will be gone.  And the peace be unto thee, O Bara Miyan, master of the gold!”

Tension as of a wire about to snap contracted the Master’s nerves, strong as they were.  Leclair leaned forward, his face pale, teeth set hard into his lip.

“Yea, gold!” the Master repeated with hard-forced calm.  “This is the gift we ask of thee, for the Myzab and the holy Black Stone and Kaukab el Durri—­the gift of gold!”

CHAPTER XLII

“SONS OF THE PROPHET, SLAY!”

The Olema shook an emphatic head of negation. “Yafta Allah!” he exclaimed, using the absolute, decisive formula of refusal in Arab bargaining.  “This gold of ours is sacred.  The angel Jibrail himself struck the Iron Mountains with his wing, at the same hour when the Black Stone fell from Paradise, and caused the gold to gush out.  It is not earthly gold, but the gold of angels.

“Not one grain can be taken from El Barr.  The curses of Jehannun, of Eblis, rest on Arab or Ajam who dare attempt it.  Surely, such a one shall be put to the sword, and his soul in the bottom pits of Hell shall be taken by the feet and forelock and cast into the hottest flames!  That soul shall eat of the fruit of the tree Al Zakkum, and be branded forever with the treasure he did attempt to ravish from us!”