“I will tell thee.”
Mohammed drew Max and Ibrahim away from the caravan, and led them a hundred yards across the sand.
He sat down after the manner of his people, and bade them do likewise.
When all three were seated he took a small box of salt from his girdle and gave each a pinch.
Although Max disliked the flavor of the saline mineral, he knew that the partaking of it was a bond of brotherhood with the Arab.
“The story is a long one,” commenced Mohammed, “but I will tell thee only the outlines, and some day, when beneath the palms or under the tent, thine ears shall listen to the whole story. I loved—all young men do—but I loved the most beautiful woman whom the prophet ever allowed to live this side of paradise. She bore me a daughter. On her I lavished all the love of a father. Being a girl without soul”—many of the Mohammedans teach that only man possesses an eternal soul—“I desired she should learn all the mysteries of the ancient Mamelukes. She was a diligent student, and when she reached the age of twelve years she had learned all the symbols and signs of the great brotherhood, and knew how to find any of the true Mamelukes who might still live. But then——”
Mohammed again broke down, and the tears fell like rain from his eyes.
His agitation was painful to witness, and many times Max wished he had curbed his curiosity and so have saved the aged Arab.
Ibrahim was excited.
He felt drawn toward the Arab by some unknown and mysterious power.