"Let them look well to their
cartridges. It is not I who load the guns with bullets made of
soft black-lead, as the _Effendi_ Robert-Houdin did long ago to the
confusion of the Marabouts in Algeria. No, let thy men load their
own rifles. But," and his voice grew mocking, "let their aim be good.
Death is nothing, O Bara Miyan, but clumsy shooting means much pain."
His tone galled the aged Sheik, despite that impassive exterior. Bara
Miyan beckoned, and with a command brought six riflemen from their
horses.
"Load well, and shoot me this Frank!" exclaimed the Olema. A fire was
burning in his eyes.
"_Aywa_!" (Even so!) replied one of the riflemen. "Allah will make it
easy for us!"
"Have no fear, Bara Miyan," another said. "Not so easily shall El Kisa
(the People of the Garment) be overcome by the Feringi!"
Tension held Arabs and Legionaries, alike. All remained calm, though
had you watched "Captain Alden," you would have seen her fingers
twisting together till the blood almost started through the skin.
The Master walked a few paces, turned and faced the squad.
"Ready, men of Jannati Shahr?" asked he, with a smile.
"We are ready, Unbeliever!"
"Then fire!"
Up came the rifles.
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