Major Bohannan laughed with more enjoyment than he had shown since Nissr had left America.  They both saluted and withdrew.  When the door was closed again, a little silence fell in the pilot-house, the floor of which had now assumed an angle of nearly thirty degrees.  The droning of the helicopters, the drift of the sickly white smoke that—­rising from Nissr’s stern—­wafted down-wind with her, the drunken angle of her position all gave evidence of the serious position in which the Flying Legion now found itself.  Suddenly the Master spoke.  His dismissal of Bohannan and Leclair had given him the opportunity he wanted.

“Captain Alden,” said he, bruskly, with the unwillingness of a determined man forced to reverse a fixed decision.  “I have reconsidered my dictum regarding you.”

“Indeed, sir?” asked the woman, from where she stood leaning against the sill of the slanted window.  “You mean, sir, I am to stay with the Legion, till the end?”

“Yes.  Your service in having shot down the stowaway renders it imperative that I show you some human recognition.  You gained admission to this force by deception, and you broke parole and escaped from the stateroom where I had imprisoned you.  But, as you have explained to me, you heard the explosion, you heard the outcry of pursuit, and you acted for my welfare.

“I can weigh relative values.  I grant your request.  The score is wiped clean.  You shall remain, on one condition.”

“And what is that, sir?” asked “Captain Alden,” with a voice of infinite relief.

“That you still maintain the masculine disguise.  The presence of a woman, as such, in this Legion, would be a disturbing factor.  You accept my terms?”

“Certainly!  May I ask one other favor?”

“What favor?”

“Spare Kloof and Lombardo!”

“Impossible!”

“I know their guilt, sir.  Through their carelessness in not having discovered the stowaway and in having let him escape, the Legion came near sudden death.  I know Nissr is a wreck, because of them.  Still, we need men, and those two are good fighters.  Above all, we need Lombardo, the doctor I ask you to spare them at least their lives!”

“That is the woman’s heart in you speaking, now,” the chief answered, coldly.  His eyes were far ahead, where the war-party was beginning to debouch on the white sands along the shore—­full three hundred fighting-men, or more, well armed, as the tiny sparkles of sunlight flicking from weapons proved.  As Nissr drew in to land, the Beni Harb grew visible to the naked eye, like a swarm of ants on the desert rim.

“The woman’s heart,” repeated the Master.  “That is your only fault and weakness, that you are a woman and that you forgive.”

“You grant my request?”

“No, Captain.  Nor can I even discuss it.  Those two men have cut themselves off from the Legion and signed their own death warrant.  The sentence I have decided on, must stand.  Do not speak of this to me again, madam!  Now, kindly withdraw.”