nd our toil hours less!' Then go they to
their sheikh or whomever he be who hath hired them, and they say to him:
'Oh, favoured of Allah, behold we must have such and such wage and such
and such hours of labour!' Then doth their sheikh cast ashes upon his
beard and rend his garments. For doth he not know his fate is upon him
and that his breath is in his nostrils? Yet will they not listen to his
prayers; but at once they make 'strike.'

"Then doth their sheikh betake himself to the pasha with his grievance;
beseeching the pasha, with many rich gifts, that he will throw those
strike-making labourers into prison and scourge their kinsmen with the
kourbash. But the pasha maketh answer, with tears: 'Lo, I am helpless!
What saith the law? It saith that a man may make strike at will; and
that his employer must pay what is demanded!' Now, this pasha is named
'General.' And his heart is as gall within him that he may not accept
the rich gifts offered by the sheikh; and punish the labourers. Yet the
law restraineth him. Then the sheikh, perchance, still refuseth the
demands of his toilers. And they say to him then: 'If you will not
employ us and on the terms we ordain, then shall ye hire none others,
for we shall overthrow those whom you set in our places. And perchance
we shall destroy your warehouses or barns or shops!' This say they, when
they know he hath greatest need of them. Then boweth their master his
head upon his breast and saith: 'Be it even as ye will, my hirelings!
For I must obey!' And he giveth them, of his substance, whatsoever they
may require. And all are glad. And under the new law, even in this land
of ours, none may imprison or beat those who will not work. And all may
demand and receive what wage they will. And--"

And Kirby waited to hear no more. With a groan of disgust at the
orator's imbecility, he went back, up the hill, to his own tent.

There, he drew forth his rickety sea chair and placed it in front of a
patch of campfire that twinkled in the open space in front of the tent
door. For, up there in the hills, the nights had an edge of chill to
them; be the days ever so hot.

Stretching himself out lazily in his long chair, Kirby exhumed from a
shirt pocket his disreputable brier pipe, and filled and lighted it. The
big white Syrian stars glinted down on him from a black velvet sky.
Along the nearer peaks and hollows of the Moab Mountains, the knots of
prowling jackals kept up a running chorus of