The Talbot Mundy Megapack. Talbot Mundy

was a diluted pantheon, of course, because he was a Sikh; he wasn’t able to call on as many animal-shaped gods with as many arms and teeth as a Bengali could have urged into action; but he did his best with the technical resources at his disposal.

      Without pretending to be a judge of other men’s creeds, I thought at the time that he made a pretty workman-like hash of that lady’s prospects, so far as his particular formula could do it. I jotted down some of his suggestions to the gods for future reference, and purpose to teach them to the U.S. Army mule-skinners next time this country goes to war.

      While we were eating breakfast in a circle in front of the tents, all sticking our right hands into a common mess-pan and eating like wolves—you have to be awfully careful not to use your left hand, and unless you eat fast you’ll get less than your share—there came five men on camels out of a wady—a shallow valley that lay like a cut throat with red rocks on its edge something over a mile away beyond the egg-shaped rock. They were armed—as everybody is in those parts who hopes to live—and in a hurry.

      Ayisha and her people did not see them, because the great rock was in the way, but we left off eating to watch, and Grim went into his tent to use field-glasses without being seen. It is not unheard of for an Arab sheikh to use Zeiss binoculars, but it might make a stranger suspicious.

      The five men came on at a gallop, sending up the dust in clouds like a cruiser’s smoke-screen. They seemed to take it for granted that we were friends, for we were in full view and far outnumbered them, yet they did not check for an instant, and that in itself was a suspicious circumstance.

      They came to a halt ten yards away from Ayisha’s tent, and stared at her in silence, realizing, apparently for the first time, that they had come within rifle-shot of strangers. We could see her talking to them, but could not hear what she said. Perhaps that was as well. I think that even Grim with his poker face in perfect working order would have been flustered if he had been given time to think. The surprise, when it came, made him brace himself to meet it; and, once committed, he played with the sky for a limit as usual.

      One thing was quite clear: Ayisha had made herself known to them, and they were properly impressed. They dismounted from their camels, and, after bowing to her as respectfully as any lord of the desert decently could do to a woman, they left their beasts kneeling and started all together toward us.

      So Grim went out to meet them, even outdoing their measured dignity, striding as if the desert were his heritage. But he went only as far as the railway track, and waited; to have gone a step farther would have made them think themselves his superiors. Ali Baba, Mujrim, Narayan Singh, and I, went out and stood behind him at a properly respectful distance.

      CHAPTER VI

      “Him and Me—Same Father!”

      Every detail of a man’s bearing is watched carefully in that land. Every action has its value. The etiquette of the desert is more strict, and more dangerous to neglect, than that of palaces, although it is simpler and more to the point, being based on the instinct of self-preservation.

      The Arabs who approached us, having ridden straight into a trap for all they knew, for they had expected friends and found strangers, were even more than usually observant of formality. They were fierce, fine-looking fellows, possessed of that dignitythat only warfare with the desert breeds, and they saluted Grim with the punctilio of men who know the meaning of a fight to him who doubtless understands it too. A very different matter, that, to raising your Stetson on Broadway, with two cops on the corner and the Stars and Stripes floating from the hotel roof. They eyed Grim the while in the same sort of way that men who might be charged with trespass look at the game warden, waiting for him to speak first.

      “Allah ysabbak bilkhair!” he rolled out at last.

      “Allah y’a fik, ya Ali Higg!” they answered one after the other.

      And then the oldest of them—a black-bearded stalwart with extremely aquiline nose and dark-brown eyes that fairly gleamed from under the linen head-dress, took on himself the role of spokesman.

      “O Ali Higg! May Allah give you peace!”

      “And to you peace!” Grim answered.

      I could not see Grim’s face, of course, since I stood behind him, but I did not detect the least movement of surprise or nervousness. He stood as if he were used to being called by that name, but the rest of us did not dare look at one another. Once across that railway-line we were in the real Ali Higg’s preserves. It occurred to me at the moment as vastly safer to pose as the U.S. President in Washington.

      Still, Grim had not actually accepted the situation yet. I held my breath, trying to remember to look like a product of Lahore University.

      “We were on our way to El-Maan, O Ali Higg, not knowing that your honor had a hand in this affair.”

      “Since when is a lion not called a lion?” demanded Grim. “Who gave thee leave to name me?”

      “Pardon, O Lion of Petra! But the woman yonder, boasting with proper pride that she is Your Honor’s wife, bade us approach and pay respect.”

      On my left I heard Narayan Singh muttering obscenities through set teeth. On the right old Ali Baba wore a twinkle in a wicked eye; the rest of his face was as emotionless as the face of the desert; but when an old man is amused not even the crow’s-feet can do less than advertise the fact.

      “A woman’s tongue is like a camel bell,” said Grim. “It clatters unceasingly, and none can silence without choking it. But art thou a woman?”

      “Pardon, O Lion of Petra!”

      There followed a long pause. When men meet in the desert it is only those from the West who are in any hurry to betray their business. There being an infinity of time, that man is a liar who proclaims a shortage of it.

      “Will the sun not rise tomorrow?” asks the East.

      Grim stood like a statue; and, judging by my own feelings, who had nothing at all to do but look on, I should say that was a test of strength.

      “Last week the train was punctual at El-Maan—three hours after sunrise,” said the spokesman at last.

      On lines where there is only one train a week it is not unusual for its arrival to be the chief social event on the country-side, but that hardly seemed to me to account for the way those five men had been driving their camels. However, as Grim knew no more of their business than the rest of us, and needed desperately to find out, he was careful to ask no questions.

      No desert responds to the inquisitive folk who camp on its edge and demand to be told; but it will tell you all it knows if you keep quiet and govern yourself in accordance with its moods. The men who live in the desert are of the same pattern—fierce, hot, cold, intolerant, cruel, secretive, given to covering their tracks, and yet not without oases that are better than much fine gold to the man who knows how to find them. They enjoy a proverb better than some other men like promises.

      “Allah marks the flight of birds. Shall He not decree a train’s journey?” said Grim.

      “Inshallah, Lion of Petra! The train will come, when that is written, and that which is written shall befall. It is said there are sons of corruption on the train, who bear much wealth with them.

      “It were a pity to leave all the looting to those who got to El-Maan soonest. They who slay will claim the booty.

      “Or does Your Honor intend to arrive afterward and claim a share, leaving the labor to those who seek labor? In that case we crave permission to join Your Honor’s party. It may be we can help enforce Your Honor’s just demands, and be recompensed accordingly?”

      “Wallahi!” Grim answered after a long pause. “Who sets himself to plunder trains without my leave? Have I been such short time in Petra that men doubt who rules here? Have I not said the train shall pass El-Maan and come thus far? Who dares challenge me? Do I wait here for nothing? Shall I be satisfied with a string of empty cars?”

      The Arab turned