nstant sleepless work,
was on him. He had not played for near a week, saying, in response to
Dicky's urging, that there was no time for music. And Dicky knew that
presently there would be no time to eat, and then no time to sleep; and
then, the worst!

Dicky had pinned his faith and his friendship to Fielding, and he saw no
reason why he should lose his friend because Madame Cholera was stalking
the native villages, driving the fellaheen before her like sheep to the
slaughter.

"Is it a bargain?" he added, as Fielding did not at once reply. If
Fielding would but play it would take the strain off his mind at times.

"All right, D., I'll see what I can do with it," said Fielding, and with
a nod turned to the map with the little red and white and yellow flags,
and began to study it.

He did not notice that one of his crew abaft near the wheel was watching
him closely, while creeping along the railing on the pretence of
cleaning it. Fielding was absorbed in making notes upon a piece of paper
and moving the little flags about. Now he lit a cigar and began walking
up and down the deck.

The Arab disappeared, but a few minutes afterwards returned. The deck
was empty. Fielding had ridden away to the village. The map was still on
the table. With a frightened face the Arab peered at it, then going to
the side he called down softly, and there came up from the lower deck a
Copt, the sarraf of the village, who could read English fairly. The Arab
pointed to the map, and the Copt approached cautiously. A few feet away
he tried to read what was on the map, but, unable to do so, drew closer,
pale-faced and knockkneed, and stared at the map and the little flags.
An instant after he drew back, and turned to the Arab. "May God burn
his eyes! He sends the death to the village by moving the flags. May God
change him into a dog to be beaten to death! The red is to begin, the
white flag is for more death, the yellow is for enough. See--may God cut
off his hand!--he has moved the white flag to our village." He pointed
in a trembling fear, half real, half assumed--for he was of a nation of
liars.

During the next half-hour at least a dozen Arabs came to look at the
map, but they disappeared like rats in a hole when, near midnight,
Fielding's tall form appeared on the bank above.

It was counted to him as a devil's incantation, the music that he played
that night, remembering his promise to Dicky Donovan. It was music
through which breat