"But what, Lieutenant?"
"Ah, do you not see? No horses. No camels. That means their oasis is not far. That means they are not traveling. This is no nomadic moving of the Ahl Bayt. No, no, my Captain. It is—"
"Well, what?"
"A war-party. What you in your language call the—the reception committee, n'est-ce pas? Ah, yes, the reception committee."
"And the guests?" demanded the major.
"The guests are all the members of the Flying Legion!" answered the
Frenchman, with another draw at his indispensable cigarette.
CHAPTER XX
THE WAITING MENACE
"Ah, sure now, but that's fine!" exclaimed the major with delight, his eyes beginning to sparkle in anticipation. "The best of news! A little action, eh? I ask nothing better. All I ask is that we live to reach the committee—live to be properly killed! It's this dying-alive that kills me! Faith, it tears the nerves clean out of my body!"
"That is a true Arab idea, Major," smiled Leclair. "To this extent you are brother to the Bedouin. They call a man fatis, as a reproach, who dies any other way than fighting. May you never—may none of us—ever suffer the disgrace of being fatis!"