Nothing now remained to tell them of the enemy, save here or there the flutter of a bit of burnous or _cherchia_ (head-dress), that fluttered from the white sand now all ribbed in lovely scollops like the waves of a moveless sea.

In one spot a naked brown arm and hand were projecting heavenward, out of the sand-ocean, as if in mute appeal to Allah.
The Legionaries heaped sand on this grim bit of death, completely burying it, and on the fluttering cloths.

And as they peered abroad across the desert, in the glory of morning, now nothing could be seen to mind them of the fighting-men who, like the host of Sennacherib, had been brushed by the death-angel's wing.
The jackals knew, though, and the skulking hyenas, already sneaking in the _nullahs_; and so did the _rion_ and the yellow _ukab_-birds--carrion-fowl, both--which already from the farthest blue, had begun to wheel and volplane toward the coast.
Back on the beach, exultant, yet rather silent in the face of all that death, the Legion at once got itself into action under the vigorous command of the Master.

Twenty-three men were still fit and active for service; and both Enemark and Lebon would in a few days be of help.
"Man-power enough," thought the Master, as he laid out his campaign.
"The only troublesome factors, are, first, _Nissr's_ condition; second, our lack of water and supplies; and third, the possibility of interference from Arabs or European forces, by land or sea.

If we can overcome all these--_if_, did I say?
We can! We will!" First of all, three volunteers swam out to _Nissr_ through the surf now again beating in from the open sea.