Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1910-06-05

valley OF ii DdTenn. we neaIO LIl1S Call 10
the jihad and scorned it. The followers of
this dog, Bou Hammer, fell upon us because
we would not join them, took from us all we
had, and sent us to you after doing this"
He reached up suddenly to his head wrap
pings and threw them back, as did his follow
ers. Dick ground his teeth in sudden rage;
but the kaid sat cold and immovable, with
no change of expression on his face. The
stain of red was explained. Each mans ears
had been neatly shorn away and salt and
ashes rubbed into his bleeding wounds.
Take these men out" the Kaid COM
manded his orderly, and see that they are
given the best that is in the camp. And for
you" he went on, addressing the victims of
Buhammeis followers, before the next
Ramadan a thousand ears of the unfaithful
shall answer! | have spoken
Dick, Mortified, began to express his
opinion of such barbarism; but the Kaid
only smiled.
They got off lucky" he said 1T beats
being buried in the sand up to your head and
left to the ants and vultures.'
For long time that evening the Kaid
talked as he had never talked before, freely
and without restraint, laughing softly now
and then as he told of some of his experiences
and evincing humor at times with which
the American had never credited him. On
the verge of the greatest trial he had ever
met IN the long years OF residence IN this
strange country, he seemed buoyed up by
the citation of coming conflict. Dick was
charmed with his good fellowship, and for
awhile after he retired laid awake staring up
at the dim canvas above his head and specu-
lating regarding the strange career into
whose inner life he had been given glance.
nAWN came to the little tent again, the
prayers and the peaceful round of camp
activities. The purple haze stretching out
far across the yellow plain paled and thinned
until each distant clump of bushes was out
lined and the sun leaped up for another day.
1t was hard to believe that war, dark and
cruel with fanaticism, lurked anywhere in
all that broad sweep of country. Nowhere,
aside from their own encampment, was there
sign of life. Gone were the white clad men
who yesterday had passed feverishly along
the road or been silhouetted against the far
horizon line. Gone were the family parties
fleeing from or seeking the queen city of the
Maghreb, according to their belief in who
should occupy the ancient throne. In the
forenoon sun the camp lay stagnant and
still. On its outskirts clusters of refugees or
travel worn couriers chatted with the troop
ers or fercely argued over the new uprising.
Some of the soldiers, whose scars told of
other wars, squatted in groups and gam
bled, needless of what the days or day might
bring. For these veterans of strife Dick felt
friendship which, whenever he passed, they
appeared to return with interest.
1t was we'll into the afternoon when an ex-
clamation of a sentry brought everyone to
his feet. The Kaid emerged from his tent,
where he had been pouring over maps, and
for several minutes stared through pair of
binoculars. Dick, straining his eyes, could
find no cause for this new interest, and, con-
WINGED that these men of the desert, accus-
toned to long reaches, could see farther than
he, was turning back when the Englishman
handed him the glasses.
There they comet Clarke said with
some elation. They're from Mekinez.'
Dick adjusted the glasses and saw in the
distance column of dust. He felt like shout
ing with elation. 1t was plain now that
considerable body of men was moving in
their direction.
The Kaid as if dismissing the matter
from his mind, returned to the seclusion of
their tent; but Dick, with all others of the
camp, watched the growth of the oncoming
column. The sun had dropped below the
horizon and the purple shadows were again
deepening before its advance guard ap-