Men who will die for
Islam and for their master without a quiver--"
"My Captain! What do you mean?"
The lieutenant's eyes had begun to fill with flame. His hand tightened
to a fist.
"_Mon Dieu_, what do you mean? Can it be possible you dream of ruling
the races of Islam?"
Something whined overhead, from the beach now only about a
quarter-mile distant. Then a shot from behind the dunes cracked out
across the crumbling, hissing surf.
"Ah," laughed Leclair, "the ball has opened, eh? Well this is now no
time for talk, for empty words. I think I understand you, my Captain;
and to the death I stand at your right hand!"
Their palms met and clasped, a moment, in the firm grip of a compact
between two strong men, unafraid. Then each drew his pistol, crouching
there at the windows of the pilot-house.
"Hear how that bullet sang?" questioned the Frenchman. "It was
notched--a notched slug, you understand. That is a familiar trick with
these dog-people of the Beni Harb. Sometimes, if they have poison,
they dip the notched slug in that too. And, ah, what a wound one
makes! Dum-dums are a joke beside such!"
Another shot sounded. Many cracked out along the dune.
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