CHAPTER Seven.
"Who gives orders to me ?" The wonderful thing about Moab is that everything happens in a story-book setting, with illustrations by Maxfield Parrish and Wyeth and Joe Coll, and all the rest of them, whichever way you look.
Imagine a blue sky--so clear-blue and pure that you can see against it the very feathers in the tails of wheeling kites, and know that they are brown, not black.

Imagine all the houses, and the shacks between them, and the poles on which the burlap awnings hang, painted on flat canvas and stood up against that infinite blue.

Stick some vultures in a row along a roof-top-- purplish--bronze they'll look between the tiles and sky.

Add yellow camels, gray horses, striped robes, long rifles, and a searching sun-dried smell.

And there you have El-Kerak, from the inside.
From any point along the broken walls or the castle roof you can see for fifty miles over scenery invented by the Master-Artist, with the Jordan like a blue worm in the midst of yellow-and-green hills twiggling into a turquoise sea.
The villains stalk on-stage and off again sublimely aware of their setting.