"Worse and worse yet!" exclaimed Ismeddin, as the Shareef drew up beside him. "Though I more than half expected as much. About forty of those sons of Satan.... You and I might have taken those seven by surprize——"
"Well, why not wait for the guard, Hajji?" demanded the Shareef.
"Too late!" snapped Ismeddin. "You heard that gong? A warning signal. That caravan arrived just in time for the sacrifice. You and I must stop it."
"Wallah! But the odds are great.... Still——"
The Shareef drew his scimitar.
"After my own heart, saidi!" exclaimed the darvish. "But rash. Let them first get under ground——"
"But how about the sentry?" demanded the Shareef. "He'll give the alarm."
"On the contrary, uncle. Look!"
Ismeddin produced from his capacious wallet a small, glittering object: the effigy of a peacock carved of silver.
"Malik Taûs! The damnation of Allah upon him!" exclaimed the Shareef as he recognized the symbol of the devil-worshipers.