We must be getting back."
Leclair peered at him in the screaming dark.
"Why, my Captain?" asked he. "The Legionaries can care for themselves.
If _Nissr_ is breaking up, in the gale, we can do nothing. And on
the way we may be lost. To retrace our journey over the desert would
surely be to invite death."
"We must return, nevertheless. This storm may last all night, and it
may blow itself out in half an hour. That cannot be told. The Legion
may think us lost, and try to search for us. Lives may be sacrificed.
Morale demands that we go back. Moreover, we certainly need not
traverse the desert."
"How, then?"
"We can descend the wady to the beach, and make southward along it,
under the shelter of the dunes."
"In the noise and confusion of the storm they may take us for Arabs
and shoot us down."
"I will see to that. Come, we must go! Carry Lebon, if you like. Rrisa
and I will take Abd el Rahman."
"_M'alme_, not Abd el Rahman, now," ejaculated Rrisa, "but Abd el
Hareth![1] Let that be his title!"
[Footnote 1: The former name signifies "Slave of Compassion;" the
latter, "Slave of the Devil."]
"As thou wishest, Rrisa. But come, take his feet.
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