“Naught care we for the Kel-Fadê, who are accursed by Allah, for they pray not, neither go they upon pilgrimages!” the man answered, with a harsh laugh. “From the waters of the Tsâd, even unto the green slopes of the Atlas, we hold power supreme, and none dare withstand us, for we are feared alike by the Roumis of Algeria and the True Believers of the Desert.” Then, brandishing his jambiyah (a very keen crooked dagger) above his head, he added, “We are of the Ennitra, and our lord is the mighty Hadj Absalam, Sultan of the Sahara!”
“Then hear me, O brothers!” Halima exclaimed in a loud, firm voice. “I am thy sister!”
“Our sister? But thou art of the Kel-Fadê, our enemies!” the horsemen cried with one accord.
“True. Hear thou mine explanation. Dost thou not remember that the Kel-Fadê—whom may Allah confound!—attacked and burned our village of Afara Aouhan?”
“The sons of dogs killed my father in the massacre,” declared one of the men, a brawny giant, who stood leaning on his gun.
“Mine shared the same fate. He was the oukil,” cried the beautiful girl, whose veil had in the struggle been torn away.
“His name—quick!” exclaimed the leader of the marauders in surprise.
“Hámed ben Abderrahman.”
“Then thou art—”
“His daughter Halima.”