All five men of the rear guard fully
understood its every detail and all had sworn to carry it out to the
letter. Their morale remained perfect; their discipline, under the
command of Grison--left alone as they were in the midst of potentially
hostile territory and with overwhelming masses of Mohammedans close
at hand--held them as firmly as did that of the advance guard now
whirling up the wide, paved road to the gleaming gate of Jannati
Shahr.
This band of hardy adventurers, stout-hearted and armed with
service-revolvers, remained rather closely grouped, with the Arabs
flanking and following them. At their head rode old Bara Miyan with
the Master, who well bestrode his saddle with burnished metal peaks
and stitching of silver thread. After them came the three _imams_,
Major Bohannan, Leclair, and "Captain Alden."
The "captain's" mask seemed somewhat to impress the Arabs, who
whispered among themselves concerning it. But not one suspected the
sex of this Frank. The "captain" rode as gallantly as any, and with a
firm hand reined her slim, white horse.
As the on-thundering swarm of horsemen approached the pointed arch,
some sixty feet wide by ninety high, its intaglios and complex
arabesques flashing with millions of sunlit sparkles, a clear,
sustained chant drifted out over city and plain--the cry of some
unseen muezzin, announcing news of great import to Jannati Shahr.
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