follow you."

She held my hand a moment.

"Now go," she murmured.

I went.

I remember only one thing about that descent: I was overcome with
vexation when the rope stopped and I found myself, feet dangling,
against the perfectly smooth wall.

"What is the little fool waiting for?" I said to myself. "I have been
hung here for a quarter of an hour. Ah ... at last! Oh, here I am
stopped again." Once or twice I thought I was reaching the ground, but
it was only a projection from the rock. I had to give a quick shove
with my foot.... Then, suddenly, I found myself seated on the ground.
I stretched out my hands. Bushes.... A thorn pricked my finger. I was
down.

Immediately I began to get nervous again.

I pulled out the cushion and slipped off the noose. With my good hand,
I pulled the rope, holding it out five or six feet from the face of
the mountain, and put my foot on it.

Then I took the little cardboard box from my pocket and opened it.

One after the other, three little luminous circles rose in the inky
night. I saw them rise higher and higher against the rocky wall. Their
pale rose aureols gleamed faintly. Then, one by one, they turned,
disappeared.

"You are tired, Sidi Lieutenant. Let me hold the rope."

Cegheir-ben-Cheikh rose up at my side.

I looked at his tall black silhouette. I shuddered, but I did not let
go of the rope on which I began to feel distant jerks.

"Give it to me," he repeated with authority.

And he took it from my hands.

I don't know what possessed me then. I was standing beside that great
dark phantom. And I ask you, what could I, with a dislocated
shoulder, do against that man whose agile strength I already knew?
What was there to do? I saw him buttressed against the wall, holding
the rope with both hands, with both feet, with all his body, much
better than I had been able to do.

A rustling above our heads. A little shadowy form.

"There," said Cegheir-ben-Cheikh, seizing the little shadow in his
powerful arms and placing her on the ground, while the rope, let
slack, slapped back against the rock.

Tanit-Zerga recognized the Targa and groaned.

He put his hand roughly over her mouth.

"Shut up, camel thief, wretched little fly."

He seized her arm. Then he turned to me.

"Come," he said in an imperious tone.

I obeyed. During our short walk, I heard Tanit-Zerga's teeth
chattering with terror.

We reached a little cave.

"Go in," said the Targa.

He lig