rst gray streak of dawn along the horizon,
found the Legion all astir. Lebon had long since been told of his
rescue; he and his lieutenant had embraced and had given each other a
long story--the enslaved man's story making Leclair's face white with
rage, his heart a furnace of vengeance on all Islam.

The Sheik, dimly understanding that these devils of Feringistan had by
their super-magic overwhelmed him and his tribe with sleep-magic
and storm-magic of the strongest, lay bound hand and foot, sullenly
brooding. No one could get a word from Abd el Rahman; not even Rrisa,
who exhausted a wonderful vocabulary of imprecation on him, until the
Master sternly bade him hold his peace.

A gaunt, sunken-eyed old hawk of the desert he lay there in the sand,
unblinkingly defiant. Tortures and death, he felt, were to be his
portion; but with the stoicism of the barbarian he made no sound.
What his thoughts were, realizing the loss of tribesmen, capture,
despoilment of the Great Pearl Star, who could tell?

A wondrous dawn, all mingled of scarlet, orange, and vivid yellows,
with streaks of absinthe hue, burned up over the desert world. It
showed _Nissr_ about as she had been the night before; for the simoom
had not thrashed up sea enough--offshore, as it had been--to break up
the partial wreck.

The air-liner had, however, settled down a good deal in the sand,
and had canted at a sharp angle to port. Her galleries, fuselage,
and wings were heavily laden with sand that materially increased her
weight; and to the casual eye she gave the impression of a bird which
never again would soar on level wing.

The major voiced discouragement, but no one shared it. Spirits were
still high, in spite of thirst and exhaustion, and of the losses
already sustained in men and material. Lombardo and "Captain Alden"
had patched up the wounded in rough, first-aid fashion; and they,
in spite of pain, shared the elation of the others in the entire
wiping-out of the Beni Harb.

As soon as the light permitted operations to begin again, the Legion
trekked over to the Arabs' former lines. Nothing now remained to tell
them of the enemy, save here or there the flutter of a bit of burnous
or _cherchia_ (head-dress), that fluttered from the white sand now
all ribbed in lovely scollops like the waves of a moveless sea. In one
spot a naked brown arm and hand were projecting heavenward, out of the
sand-ocean, as if in mute appeal to Allah.

The Legionaries