The Master's arm had to push its way against the wind as against a solid thing; and the billion rushing spicules of sand that swooped in upon him from the desert emptiness, stung his flesh like tiny scourges.
"This Koran, Rrisa, is now thine!" he cried in a loud voice, to make the Arab hear him.

"And a great gift to thee, a Sunnite, is the Koran, of this desecrating son of the rejected!" Bowed before the flail of the sand--while Rrisa uttered broken words of thanks--the Master called to Leclair: "By _Corsi_ (Allah's throne), now things assume a different aspect! This old dog of dogs is a prize, indeed! And--what now--" Leclair did not answer.

The Frenchman was not even near him.

The Master saw him in the wady, dimly visible through the ghostly white sand-shrouds spinning in the blue-whipped fire-glare.

There on hands and knees the lieutenant was huddled.