"God! What this means!" the Master repeated, as the three men cringed in the wady. "Success, dominion, power!"
"You mean—" put in Leclair, his voice smitten away by the ever-increasing storm that ravened over the top of the gully.
"What do I not mean, Lieutenant? No wonder the Apostate Sheik had to flee from Mecca and take refuge here in this impassable wilderness at the furthest rim of Islam! No wonder he has been hounded and hunted! The only miracle is that some of his own tribesmen have not betrayed him before now!"
"Master, no Arab betrays his own sheik, right or wrong!" said Rrisa in a strange voice. "Before that, an Arab dies by his own hand!" He spoke in Arabic, with a peculiar inflection.
Their eyes met a second by the light of the gusting fire.
"Right or wrong, M'almé!" repeated the Arab. Then he added: "Shall I not now go to drag in the swine-brother Abd el Rahman?"
"Thou sayst, if he be left there—"
"Yes, Master, he will surely die. All who are not sheltered, now, will die. All who lie there on the dune, will be drifted under, will breathe sand, will perish."
"It is well, Rrisa. Go, drag in the swine-brother. But have a care to harm him not. Thou wouldst gladly slay him, eh?"
"More gladly than to live myself! Still, I obey. I go, I bring him safe to you, O Master!"