ade of the tent's interior, Isobel clucked at him and hurried
to get a drink of water from a moist water cooler. Homer Crawford
motioned the other to a seat, and took one himself. "Now then, Dr.
Smythe."

The indignant medic blurted, "Those confounded bandits out there--"

"Irregular camel cavalry," Crawford amended gently.

"They've kidnapped me and my staff. I demand that you intercede, if
you have any influence with them."

"What were you doing?" Crawford was frowning at the other. Actually,
he had no idea of the circumstances under which the probably
overenthusiastic Tuareg troopers had rounded up the American medical
man.

"Doing? You know perfectly well I represent the American Medical
Relief. My team has been in the vicinity of Silet, working with the
nomads. The country is rife with everything from rickets to syphilis!
Eighty per cent of these people suffer from trachoma. My team--"

"Just a moment," Moroka said. "You mean out in those two trucks you
have a complete American medical setup? Assistants and all?"

Smythe said stiffly, "I have two American nurses with me and four
Algerians recruited in Oran. This sort of interference with my work is
insufferable and--"

The South African was staring at Homer Crawford.

Cliff Jackson cleared his throat. "It seems as though El Hassan has
just acquired a Department of Health."

"El Hassan?" Smythe stuttered. "What, what?"

Isobel said softly, "Dr. Smythe, surely you have heard of El Hassan."

"Heard of him? I've heard of nothing else for the past month!
Confounded ignorant barbarian. What this part of the world needs is
_less_ intertribal, interracial, international fighting, not more. The
man's a raving lunatic and--"

Isobel said gently, "Doctor ... may I introduce you to El Hassan?"

"What ... what--?" For the briefest of moments, there was an element
of timorness in the sputtering doctor's voice. Then suddenly he
comprehended.

He pointed at Homer Crawford accusingly. "You're El Hassan!"

Homer nodded, seriously, "That's correct, Doctor."

The doctor's eyes went around the four of them. "You've done what you
were driving at there at that meeting in Timbuktu. You're trying to
unite these people in spite of themselves and then drag them,
willy-nilly, into the twentieth century."

Homer still nodded.

Smythe shook an indignant finger at him. "I told you then, Crawford,
and I tell you now. These natives are not suited for such sudden
change. Al