forward to let go a vicious
right-hand swing--flush to the other's jaw!

The kick missed Max--missed him by a hair--but the punch landed, landed
with every ounce of bone and muscle behind it that Max had in his body.

Down crashed the champion on the back of his skull, with a thud amid a
spatter of gravel!

For an instant the huge form lay still, while the ring of Legionnaires
remained petrified. Suddenly the group realized that the fighting cock
had been beaten by the bantam.

Then, with visions of "cellule" for every one concerned, four or five
men sprang to pick up the champion. As they got him to his feet, blood
poured from his swollen and disfigured nose. Coming slowly to himself,
Pelle wiped it away dazedly with the back of a hairy hand, anxious, even
in semi-consciousness, to preserve the purity of his uniform, sacred in
the Legion.

Max stood his ground, rather expecting to be attacked in revenge by some
of Pelle's angry allies; and the man who had warned him to beware of "la
savate" took a step nearer him. But both were new to the Legion
Etrangere, and did not yet know the true spirit of the regiment.

Only admiring looks were turned upon the astonished young conqueror, who
was rather surprised at his own easy victory. As Pelle came to himself
in his friends' arms, the big fellow staggered forward, holding out a
bloodstained paw.

CHAPTER XIII

THE AGHA'S ROSE

Sanda did not know, and would not know for many days, the news of
Sidi-bel-Abbes, for she had started on a long journey, to the "wonderful
place" of which she would have spoken to Max had she not been warned by
her father's word and look that the story was "irrelevant."

If Sanda had tried to tell the tale of that "romance" at which she had
hinted in the Salle d'Honneur, she would have had to begin far back in
time when, after his wife's death, Georges DeLisle had by his own
request been transferred to the Legion. His first big fight had been in
helping the Agha of Djazerta against a raid of Touaregs, the veiled men
of the South, brigands then and always. Since those days, DeLisle and
Ben Raana, the great desert chief, had been friends. More than once they
had given each other aid and counsel. When Ben Raana came north with
other Caids, bidden to the Governor's ball in Algiers, he paid DeLisle a
visit. Each year at the season of date-gathering he sent the colonel of
the Legion a present of the honey-sweet, amber-clear fruit for which