hat a long cord hung from his saddle-bow, and that at the end of this
cord was a man, trotting heavily in the heavy sand like a creature
dogged and weary. We came in to Sidi-Massarli simultaneously, and pulled
up at the same moment before the arched door of the Bordj, from which
glided a one-eyed swarthy Arab, staring fixedly at me. This was the
official keeper of the house. In one hand he held the huge door key, and
as I swung myself heavily on the ground I heard him, in Arabic, asking
my Arab attendant, D'oud, who I was and where I hailed from.

But such attention as I had to bestow on anything just then was given
to the Spahi and his companion. The Spahi was a magnificent man, tall,
lithe, bronze-brown and muscular. He looked about thirty-four, and had
the face of a desert eagle. His piercing black eyes stared me calmly out
of countenance, and he sat on his spirited horse like a statue, waiting
patiently till the guardian of the Bordj was ready to attend to him. My
gaze travelled from him along the cord to the man at its end, and rested
there with pity. He, too, was a fine specimen of humanity, a giant,
nobly built, with a superbly handsome face, something like that of an
undefaced Sphinx. Broad brows sheltered his enormous eyes. His rather
thick lips were parted to allow his panting breath to escape, and his
dark, almost black skin, was covered with sweat. Drops of sweat coursed
down his bare arms and his mighty chest, from which his ragged burnous
was drawn partially away. He was evidently of mixed Arab and negro
parentage. As he stood by the Spain's horse, gasping, his face expressed
nothing but physical exhaustion. His eyes were bent on the sand, and
his arms hung down loosely at his sides. While I looked at him the Spahi
suddenly gave a tug at the cord to which he was attached. He moved in
nearer to the horse, glanced up at me, held out his hand, and said in a
low, musical voice, speaking Arabic:

"Give me a cigarette, Sidi."

I opened my case and gave him one, at the same time diplomatically
handing another to the Spahi. Thus we opened our night's acquaintance,
an acquaintance which I shall not easily forget.

In the desolation of the Sahara a travelling intimacy is quickly
formed. The one-eyed Arab led our horses to the stable, and while my two
attendants were inside unpacking the tinned food and the wine I carried
with me on a mule, I entered into conversation with the Spahi, who spoke
French fairly well.