The stricken caravan crept under the blaze across the red waste.  Camels fell and died.  Their burdens were lifted from them and added to the packs of others; their bodies were left to light and heat and moving air....  It grew that an enchantment seemed to hold the feet of the caravan.  Evils came upon them, sickness of men and beasts.  And now it was seen that there was indeed little water.

“O Zeyn al-Din, rid us of this infidel!”

“The infidel is in you!” answered Zeyn al-Din.  “Much speaking makes for thirst and impedes motion.  Let us cross this desert.”

“O Zeyn al-Din, if you be no right head man we shall choose another!”

“Choose!” said Zeyn al-Din, and went to the head of a camel who would not rise from the sand.

Ill luck clung and clung.  Twelve hours and there began to be cabals.  These grew to factions.  The larger of these swallowed the small fry, swelled and mounted, took the shape of practically the whole caravan.  “Zeyn al-Din, if you do not harken to us it will be the worse for you!  Drive away the Christian dog!”

“Abu al-Salam, are you the chief, or I?—­Now, companions, listen!  These are the reasons in nature for our troubles—­”

But no!  It was the noon halt.  The desert swam in light and silence.  The great majority of the traders and their company undertook to play divining, judging, determining Allah.  The big Christian stood over against them and looked at them, his arms folded.

“It is no such great matter!...  Very good then!  What do you want me to do?”

“Turn your head and your eyes from us, and go to what fate Allah parcels out to you!”

There arose a buzzing.  “Better we slay him here and now!  So Allah will know our side!”

Zeyn al-Din stepped forth.  “This is the friend of my friend and I am pledged.  Slay, and you will have two to slay!  O Allah! what a thing it is to stare at the west when the riders are in the east!”

“Zeyn al-Din, we have chosen for head man Abu al-Salam.”

“Allah with you!  I should say you had chosen well.  I have twelve camels,” said Zeyn al-Din.  “I make another caravan!  Mansur, Omar, and Melec, draw you forth my camels and mules!”

With a weaker man there might have been interference, stoppage.  But Zeyn’s mass and force acquired clear space for his own movements.  He made his caravan.  He had with him so many men.  Three of these stood by him; the others cowered into the great caravan, into the shadow of Abu al-Salam.

Zeyn threw a withering look.  “Oh, precious is the skin!”

The big infidel came to him.  “Zeyn al-Din, I do not want all this peril for me.  I have ridden away alone before to-day.  Now I shall go in that direction, and I shall find a garden.”

“Perhaps we shall find it,” said Zeyn.  “Does any other go with my caravan?”

It seemed that Ali the Wanderer went, and the dervish Abdallah....  There was more ado, but at last the caravan parted....  The great one, the long string of beads, drew with slow toil across the waste, along the old track.  The very small one, the tiny string of beads, departed at right angles.  Space grew between them.  The dervish Abdallah turned upon his camel.