in Timassao the next, checking
the wells that meant everything to a desert force; the following day
as far south as the Tamesna region to rally the less warlike
Irreguenaten, a half-breed Tuareg people largely held in scorn by
those of the Ahaggar.

Homer Crawford was killing time whilst stirring up as much noise and
dust as his handful of followers could manage. Killing time until
Elmer Allen from the Chaambra country, Bey-ag-Akhamouk from the Teda,
and Kenny Ballalou from the west could show up with their columns. He
had no illusions of how things now stood. At best, he could hold
together a thousand Tuareg fighting men. No more. The economics of
desert life prevented him a larger force, unless he had the resources
of the modern world at hand, and he didn't. Besides that, the Tuareg
confederation could provide no larger number of fighting men and at
the same time continue their desert economy.

He stood now with Isobel, Cliff and Dave Moroka in one of the western
type tents which the Peters brothers had brought with them in their
hover-lorries, and poured over the half-adequate maps which covered
the area.

Dave Moroka traced with a finger. "If we could dominate these wells
running to Djanet, our Arab Union friends would have only their one
line of supply going through Temassinine to Ghademes. That's a long
haul, Homer."

Homer Crawford scowled thoughtfully. "That involves only four wells.
If Ibrahim's legionnaires staked out only three armored vehicles at
each water hole, they could hold them. Our camelmen could never take
armor."

Moroka frowned, too. "We've got to start _some_ sort of action, or the
men will start dribbling away."

Cliff Jackson said, "Bey and Kenny and Elmer should be coming soon. I
heard a radio item this morning about a big pro-El Hassan movement
starting in the Sudan among the Teda."

Moroka said, "We need some sort of quick, spectacular victory. The
bedouin can lose interest as quickly as they can get steamed up, and
thus far we haven't given them anything but words--promises."

"You're right," Homer growled, "but there's nothing we can do right
now but mark time. Irritate the Arabs a bit. Keep them from spreading
out."

Isobel brought coffee, handing around the small Moroccan cups. She
said, "Well, one thing is certain. We get supplies soon or start
eating jerked goat and camel milk curds."

Moroka said in irritation, "It's not funny."

Isobel raised her eyebrows. "I didn't m