listened intently and all the Arabs gave close heed. "We have
not many hours more to stay in this paradise of thine. We must be
away to our own Feringistan, in our flying house. Let us speak of the
gifts. But first, I would ask thee something."

"Speak, in Allah's name, and it shall be answered thee!"

"The salt is still in thy stomach for us?"

"It is still in my stomach."

"Thou dost swear that, O Bara Miyan, by a great oath?"

"By the rising of the stars, which is a great oath!"

"And by the greatest oath, the honor of thy women?"

"Yea, Frank, by the honor of my women! But thou and thine, too, have
covenants to keep."

Old Bara Miyan bent shaggy white brows at the Master, and peered out
intently from under the hood of his burnous. The Master queried:

"What covenants, great Olema?"

"These: That no harm shall befall Myzab and the Great Pearl Star and
the Black Stone, before thou and thine fly away to the Lands of the
Books. Then, that no blood of our people shall be shed in El Barr,
either the city of Jannati Shahr or the plain. These things thou must
understand, O Frank. If harm befall the sacred relics, or blood
be shed, then the salt will depart from my stomach, and we will be
_kiman_,[1] and the _thar_[2] will be between thine and mine. I have
spoken!"

[Footnote 1: Kiman, of hostile tribes.]

[Footnote 2: Thar, the terrible blood-feud of the Arabs.]

The Master nodded.

"These things be very clear to my heart," he answered. "They shall be
treasured in my memory."

"It is well. Now speak we of the gifts."

The fixed attention of the Arabs told the Legionaries, despite their
ignorance of Arabic, that at last the important negotiation of the
reward was under way. Pipes and cigarettes smoldered, unsmoked; all
eyes turned eagerly toward the Master and Bara Miyan. Silence fell
upon the banquet-hall, where still the thin, perfumed incense-smoke
writhed aloft and where still the motionless Maghrabi men stood in
those ominous lines along the silk-tapestried walls.

"And what things," began the Olema, "doth thy heart desire, in this
city of Jannati Shahr? Tell thy wish, and perchance it shall be
granted thee!"

The Master paused, deliberately. Well he understood the psychological
value of slow action in dealing with Orientals. Bargaining, with such,
is a fine art. Haste, greed, eagerness defeat themselves.

Contemplatively the Master chewed a khat leaf, then smiled a very
little, and asked:

"I