"Listen! Can you hear anything?" exclaimed Max in a slightly nervous tone, after a brief silence.
"No, I don't think so, but those fellows over there must be quiet; they're getting excited about the promised loot."
"Go and tell them, Carl; you speak the best Arabic."
The German left the drum for a moment and after expostulating for a while with the sheik, he gained his point and the word was passed along for silence.
The Arabs were greatly mystified by this strange instrument, as well as by those aerial wires affixed to the trees, and most of all by that strange, weird machine, hidden away behind the sand-proof curtains of the little camouflaged hangar, like the sacred ark in the holy of holies.
With wondering eyes they had on occasion watched the Scorpion mount to the heavens with marvellous ease and descend with like facility--bearing its human burden aloft to the very skies and bringing them safely to earth again.
These strange gods which the infidels had brought with them to their desert home were greatly feared even by these brave, proud men, and it was only the largesse and the promise of still better things to come, from the great white chief, which prevented these sons of the desert from leaving this dreaded spot.
The scout pilot, having obtained his wish, now returned to the instrument, for his companion was already beckoning to him. Evidently the approach of the airship had been indicated by the sensitive drum, but, ere Carl reached the margin of the pool, he noticed the Rittmeister emerge from the hangar where he had been decoding the message, and wave for him to approach.
"What is it, Rittmeister?" he called.
"The message. Come here a moment!"