The Carlisle independent., 1915-08-05
CHAPTER XI.
A Sacred Trust

HIS eyes had grown accustomed to the glare of the beautiful sands, but his sense of beauty was never satisfied with looking at the desert picture and drinking in the glory and the loveli- ness of the melancholy waste. Stand ing in the door of his tent in fatigue uniform, he said to Pitchoune:
 T could be perfectly happy here if were not alone"
 Pitchoune parked He had not grown accustomed to the desert. He hated it. It slipped away froI1 under his little feet; he could not run on it with any comfort He spent his days idly in his masters tent or royalty perched on a camel. crouching close to Sabrons man servant when they went on caravan explorations.
 Yes" said Sabron. If l were not alone. I don't mean you, mon yieux You are great deal, but you really don't count, you know.
 Before his eyes the sands were as pink as countless rose leaves To Sabron they were as fragrant as low- CTS. The peculiar incenselike odor
 
 sun declines was to him the most de- licious thing he had ever inhaled All the west was as red as fire. The day had been hot and there came up the cool breeze that would give them de- Iicious night. Overhead, one by one, he watched the blossoming out of the great stars; each one hung above his lonely tent like a bridal flower in veil of blue. On all sides, like white petals on the desert face. were the tents of his men and his officers, and from the encampment came the hum of military life. yet the silence to him was profound. He had only to order his stallion saddled and to ride away for a little distance in order to be alone with the absolute stiffness. This he often did and took his thoughts with him and came back to his tent more conscious of his solitude every night of his life There had been much footing of car avans in the region by brigands, and his business was that of sentinel for the commerce of the plains. Thieving
 
 eye and his care Tonight as he stood looking toward the west into the glow, shading his eyes with his hand, he saw coming toward them what he knew to be 8 caravan from Algiers. His ordon. nance was a native soldier, one of the desert tribes, black as ink, and scarce ly more childlike than Brunei and pre- sumably as devoted
 ~Mustapha," Sabron ordered. fetch me out lounge chair" He spoke in French and pointed, for the man un- derstood imperfectly and Sabron did not yet speak Arabic.
 He threw himself down, lighted a fresh cigarette, dragged Pitchoune by the nape of his neck up to his lap, and the two sat watching the caravan slowly grow into individuals of camels and riders and finally mass itself in shadow within some four or five hun dred yards of the encampment.
 The sentinels and the soldiers began to gather and Sabron saw a single footman making his way toward the camp.
 Go" he said to Mustapha, and see what message the fellow brings to the regiment"
 Mustapha went, and after little re- turned, followed by the man himself, a black bearded, half-naked Bedouin, swathed in dust-colored burnoose and carrying a bag
 He bowed to Captain de Sabron and extended the leather bag. On the out side of the leather there was ticket pasted, which read;
 The Post for the - Squadron of Cayalry-.'
 Sabron added mentally:
 wherever it may happen to bel"
 He ordered bakshish given to the man and sent him off. Then he opened the French mail. He was not more than three hundred miles from Algiers It had taken him a long time to work down to Dirbal, however, and they had had some hardships. He felt a million miles away The look of the primitive mail bag and the knowledge of how far 1t had travelled to find the people to whom these letters were addressed made his hands reverent as he un- fastened the sealed labels. He looked the letters through, returned the bag to Mustapha and sent him off to dis tribute the post
 Then. for the light was bad, bril- liant though the night might be. he went into his tent with his own mail On his dressing table was a small H. lumination consisting of fat candle set in glass case. The mosquitoes