Level-eyed, he gazed at the white man. Then he advanced two
paces, and in a low voice demanded:
"Abd el Rahman still lives?"
"He lives, Bara Miyan."
"Where is the Great Apostate?"
"In our flying house, a prisoner."
"_Bismillah_! Deliver him unto me, and thy people and mine shall be as
brothers!"
"First let us share the salt!"
Speaking, the Master slid his hand into the same pocket that contained
the Great Pearl Star, and took out a small bag of salt. This he
opened, and held out. Bara Miyan likewise felt in a recess of his
many-hued burnous. For a moment he hesitated as if about to bring out
something. But he only shook his head.
"The salt--not yet, O White Sheik!" said he.
"We have brought thy people precious gifts," began the Master, again.
Behind him he heard an impatient whisper--the major's voice, quivering
with eagerness:
"Ask him if this place is really all gold! Faith, if I could only talk
their lingo! Ask him!"
"I shall place you under arrest, if you interfere again," the Master
retorted, without turning round.
"What saith the White Sheik?" asked Bara Miyan, hearing the strange
words of a language his ears never before had listened to.
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