But the
Olema only replied:
"The blood of believers is meant. Not of animals--or Franks!"
"And wilt thou make further trial with me?" demanded the Master.
"No, by the Prophet! It is enough!" The Master's soul warmed toward
the honesty of this bluff old Arab. "Thy magic is good magic. Give me
thy salt, Frank, and take mine!"
The Master signaled to Brodeur as he drew forth his bag of salt. He
stretched it out in his open palm; and all at once, bag, hand, and arm
up to the elbow enveloped themselves in a whirling mist and vanished
from sight, even as the Master's whole body had vanished in the cabin
when Leclair had tried to arrest him.
The Sheik's eyes grew white-rimmed with astonishment. Vaguely he
groped for the Frank's hand, then let his own fall limp.
"_Allahu akbar!_" he gasped.
The Master nodded at Brodeur. The droning of the apparatus ceased, and
again the hand became visible.
"Faith!" the major's voice was heard. "We've landed half a dozen home
runs, and they've never even got to second!"
"Come, O Bara Miyan!" the Master smiled. "Now we will put away the
things of magic, and talk the words of men. Here is my salt!"
The Sheik gingerly accepted a pinch, and with much misgiving put it
into his mouth.
Pages:
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402