A Soldier of the Legion

by C. N. Williamson and A. M. Williamson

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE MISSION

  It is the darkest hour that comes before the dawn. Next day Soldier St.George became Corporal St. George, and felt more pleasure in the bit ofred wool on his sleeve than Lieutenant Max Doran would have thoughtpossible.

  It was Four Eyes who brought him the news, a week later, that his namewas among those who would go on "the great march." Four Eyes was somehowinvariably the first one to hear everything, good news or bad. Life wasnot so black after all. There need be no past for a Legionnaire, butthere might be a future. None of the men knew for certain when the startwas to be made, but it would be soon, and the barracks of the Legionseethed with excitement. Even those who were not going could talk ofnothing else. They swore that there was no doubt of the business to bedone. The newly risen leader of the Senussi had summoned large bands ofthe sect to the village, El Gadhari, of which he was sheikh, callingupon them ostensibly to celebrate a certain feast. Close to this villagewas one of the most important Senussi monasteries. Tribes were movingall through the south, apparently with no warlike intention; but theDeliverer was dangerous. Just such a leader as he--even to the gray eyesand the horseshoe on his forehead--had been prophesied for this time ofthe world. The Legion would march. And it would maneuver in the desert,in the neighbourhood of El Gadhari. If the warning were enough--therewould be no fighting; but the Legion hoped it might not be enough. To bethe regiment ordered to give this warning was in itself an honour, forwherever work is hardest there the Legion goes. The Legion must sustainits reputation, such as it is! Desperate men, bad men, let them becalled by civilians in times of peace, but give them fighting and theyare the glorious soldiers who never turn back, who, even when they fallin death, fall forward as they rush upon the enemy. All the world knewthat of them, and they knew it of themselves. They knew, also, that whenthe moment of starting came men of Sidi-bel-Abbes who drew away fromthem in the streets and the Place Carnot would take off their hats asthe Legion went by. It would be "Vive la Legion!" then.

  With each day of burning heat the excitement grew more feverish. Surelythis morning, or this night, the order would come! The soldiers whistledas they polished their accoutrements, whistled half beneath their breaththe "March of the Legion" which the band is forbidden to play ingarrison. Quarrels were forgotten. Men who had not spoken to each otherfor weeks grinned in each other's faces and offered one another theircheap but treasured cigarettes.

  Almost every one seemed to be happy except Garcia. He was among thosewho would not be taken on the march--he, who craved and needed to go, asdid no other man in the Legion! Max feared Garcia meant to kill himselfthe night when he lost hope, and would not let him go out alone to walkin the darkness. "I don't want to ask if you have any plans," he said."But there's one thing I do ask: share with me the money I've got left.You may need it. I shan't. And if you'll take it, that'll be proof thatyou think as much of me as I do of you."

  Garcia took it, from the wallet which a man now lying in the hospitalhad tried to empty the other night. Then Max knew for certain what thequeer light in Manoeel's eyes meant. He could not help a rejoicing thrillin the other's desperate courage which no obstacle had crushed.

  That same night, when the two had separated (St. George reassured, andbelieving that Garcia had use for his life after all), Max met ColonelDeLisle face to face, for the first time alone and unofficially sincethey had parted in the Salle d'Honneur. The colonel was walkingunaccompanied, in the street not far from the little garden of theofficers' club, where the band was to give a concert, and returningMax's quick salute he turned to call him back.

  "Good evening, Corporal! I should like to speak with you a minute!"DeLisle cried out cheerfully in English. Max's heart gave a bound.Surely never could the word "Corporal" have sounded so like fine musicin a poor, non-commissioned officer's ears!

  He wheeled, pale with pleasure that his beau ideal should wish to speakwith him, and in English, the language they had used when they werestill social equals. "My Colonel!" he stammered.

  "I want to congratulate you on your quick promotion," said DeLisle. "Ithas come to you in spite of your resolution to take no advantage in thebeginning over your comrades. I congratulate you on that, too, and onkeeping it, now it has turned out so well. I hoped and believed it wouldbe so, though I advised you for your good."

  "I know that, my Colonel," answered Max, determined not to presume inspeech or act upon his superior officer's kindness. "I knew it then."

  "It may seem a pitifully small step up," DeLisle went on, "but it's thefirst reward the Legion can give a soldier. There will be others. Ishall have to congratulate you again before long, I'm sure. Meanwhile, Ihave a message for you." He paused for an instant, slightly hesitating,perhaps. "It is from my daughter. She is in the south, visiting thedaughter of an Agha who is very loyal to France as a servant, very loyalto me as a friend. Because of the march last spring, and again this one,now coming (which I expected for this time, and on which I must gomyself), I could not have a young girl like Sanda living inSidi-bel-Abbes. She is happy and interested where she is, and she hasnot forgotten you. In more than one letter she has wished to beremembered to you, if possible. To-night, Corporal, it _is_ possible,and I'm glad to give the message."

  "I thank you for it, my Colonel," Max said, half ashamed of the deepfeeling which his voice betrayed. "I--wish I might be able to thank MissDeLisle. It is a great deal to me that she should remember me--my----"

  "Your chivalry? It would be impossible to forget," DeLisle took him upcrisply. Then he dismissed the subject, as Max felt. "Tell me," he wenton in the same cheerful tone in which he had called out "Corporal!" "Areyou happy to escape the caserne, and get away to the desert?"

  Suddenly a wild idea sprang into Max's head. Desperately, not daring tolet himself stop and think, he spoke. "I should be happy, my Colonel,but for one thing. Have I your permission to tell you what it is?"

  "Yes," said DeLisle. "If I can help you in the matter, I will."

  "My Colonel, it's in your power to do me a favour I would repay you forwith my life if necessary, though"--and Max began to stammeragain--"that would be at your service in any case. The best friend Ihave made in the regiment would give his soul to go on this march. Iknow he hasn't always behaved as a soldier ought, but he's as brave ashe is hot tempered and reckless. If it could be reconsidered----"

  "You mean Garcia?" broke in Colonel DeLisle sharply.

  Max was astonished. Instantly he saw that the colonel must have beenwatching his career. He might have guessed as much from the reward ofmerit just given him--friendly congratulations and Sanda's message, athousand times more valued for the delay; and he had begun to realizethat he had never been abandoned, never forgotten. But the colonel'sknowledge of his friendship with Garcia brought the thrilling truthhome, almost with a shock.

  "Yes, my Colonel--Garcia," he replied.

  "Well, I can make no promise," said DeLisle, speaking now more in thetone of an officer with a subordinate, yet showing that he was notvexed. "But--I should like you to go away happy, Corporal. I'll lookinto the affair of your friend, and after that--we shall see.Good-night."

  Again the salute was exchanged, and the colonel was gone, turning in atthe garden gate of the _Cercle Militaire_. The meeting, and all that hadpassed, seemed like a waking dream. Max could hardly believe it hadhappened, that Sanda had sent him a message, that her father had givenit, and that he, scarcely more than a _bleu_, had dared to speak forManoeel Valdez.

  That day it proved not to be a dream, for Garcia learned officially thathe was to go with his comrades. Max hardly knew whether or not it wouldbe wise to explain how the miracle had come to pass, but there was areason why he wished to tell. When the truth was out, and Valdez readyto worship his friend, Max said: "I did it before I stopped to think; ifI _had_ stopped, I don't know--for you see, in a way, this makes me atraitor to the colonel. I begged him for a favour and he granted it._Yet you and I understand what your going means._ I've been asking
himfor your chance to--well, we won't put it in words! Only, for God'ssake, try to think of some other way to do what you've got to do!"

  "Even you admit that I _have_ got to do it!" Valdez argued. "To save awoman--it's to save her life, you know."

  "I know," said Max. "But there may be some other way than this one inyour mind."

  "If there is, I'll take it. And now I can give you back your money."

  "No! You'll need every _sou_ if----"

  "You're the best friend a man ever had!" cried the Spaniard.

  At midnight the alarm they were all waiting for sounded, and though itwas expected at any hour, it came as a surprise.

  "_Aux armes!_" rang out the call of the bugle from the barrack-yard andwaked the stone soldiers to instant life. The flat, carved figures satup on their narrow tombs in the moonlight, then sprang to their feet.There was no need or thought of discipline with that glorious alarmsounding in their ears! The men yelled with joy and roared fromdormitory to dormitory in the wonderful Legion language made up ofchosen bits from every other language of the world.

  "Faites les sacs. En tenue de campagne d'Afrique!" bawled excitedcorporals. Everything had to be done in about ten minutes; and thoughall soldiers knew the programme thoroughly, and young soldiers had gonethrough it in drill a hundred times, the real thing was somehowdifferent. Men stumbled over each other and forgot what to do first.Corporals swore and threatened; but to an onlooker the work of packingwould have seemed to go by magic. At the end of the ten minutes thebarrack-yard was full of men lined up, ready for marching, and soldiersof all nations thanked their gods for finding that the cartridges servedout to them from the magazine were not blank ones. They had allprotested their certainty that this march was for business; and whenthey had heard that their colonel was going with them they had beendoubly sure; yet in their hearts they had anxiously admitted that itwas guesswork. Now these blessed cartridges packed full of the rightstuff put an end to furtive doubts.

  As the companies formed up, the "Legion's March" was played, and theyoung soldiers who had never heard it, unless whistled _sotto voce_ byold Legionnaires, felt the thrill of its tempestuous strains in themarrow of their bones.

  Nowadays the great marches of the Foreign Legion are not what they oncewere, unless for government maneuvers. When there is need of haste theLegion goes by the railway the Legion has helped to lay; and only at theend of the line begins the real business for which the Legion lives. Forthe Legion is meant for the hardest marching (with the heaviest kits inthe world) as well as the fiercest fighting; and when the Legion marchesthrough the desert, it is "_marcher ou mourir_."

  The cry of the bugles reached the ears of the heaviest sleepers in town;for those who knew the Legion and the Legion's music knew that thesoldiers were off for a great march, or that wild air would not beplayed. Windows flew up and heads looked down as the soldiers trampingthe bright moonlit street went to the railway station. So the "luckyones" of the Legion passed out of Sidi-bel-Abbes, some of them never toreturn. And perhaps that was lucky, too, for it's as well for aLegionnaire to rest in the desert as under one of the little blackcrosses behind the wall of cypresses in the Legion's burial ground.

  * * * * *

  They had to go by the new railway line to Touggourt, as Sanda DeLislehad gone, but instead of travelling by passenger train, the soldierswent as Max had seen the batch of recruits from Oran arrive atBel-Abbes: in wagons which could be used for freight or France's humanmerchandise: "_32 hommes_, _6 cheveaux_." After Touggourt their waywould diverge from Sanda's. There was no chance for Colonel DeLisle togo and see his daughter, but in a letter he had told her the date of hisarrival in the oasis town and the hope he had--a hope almost acertainty--of hearing from his girl there, or having a message of loveto take with him on the long march, warmed his heart. It was verystrange, almost horrible, to remember how he had felt toward hisdaughter until the day she came to him, in the image of his dead love,at Sidi-bel-Abbes. He had not wanted to see her. He had even felt thathe could not bear to see her. Unjust and brutal as it was, he had neverbeen able to banish the thought that, if it had not been for her, hiswife might have been with him through the years. Sanda had cost him thehappiness of his life.

  He had easily persuaded himself that in any case, even if he had wantedher with him, for her sake it was far better not. Such an existence ashis was not for a young woman to share, even after she had passed theschoolgirl age. It had seemed to DeLisle that the only place for Sandawas with her aunts, and passing half her time in France, half inIreland, gave the girl a chance to see something of the world. She wasnot poor, for she had her mother's money; and because he wished tocontribute something toward his daughter's keep, rather than because sheneeded it, he always paid for her education and her board. What she hadof her own, from her mother, must be saved for her _dot_ when shemarried; and half unconsciously he had hoped that she would marry early.

  After he saw her--the lovely young thing who had run away to him, as hermother had--all that had been changed in an instant. His heart was ather little feet, as it had been at the feet of the first Sanda, whosecopy she was.

  His time for the next few months was so mapped out that he could nothave the girl with him for more than the first few days of joy, for shecould not be left in Sidi-bel-Abbes while he was away on duty. He haddone the best he could for his daughter by giving her a romantic tasteof desert life in the house of a tried friend whom he believed he mighttrust; but he thought tenderly and constantly of _la petite_, and offuture days when they might be together--if he came back alive fromthose "maneuvers" near El Gadhari. Approaching Touggourt, the firstscene of his life's great love tragedy, he could hardly wait for theletter he hoped for from Sanda. He expected another event, also thepleasure of meeting Richard Stanton, whom he had not seen for years, andwho would be, he knew, at Touggourt, getting together a caravan for that"mad expedition" (as every one called it) in search of the Lost Oasis.But if Stanton had cared as much for his old friend as in past days, hehad protested, he would have given a day or two to go out of his way andvisit the Colonel of the Foreign Legion at its headquarters. He had notdone that, and though DeLisle told himself that he was not hurt, hisenthusiasm at the thought of the meeting was slightly dampened. Helooked forward more keenly to Sanda's letter than to an encounter withhis erratic friend. It was good to have something heart-warming to hopefor in a place so poignantly associated with the past.

  There was plenty for the Legionnaires to do in Touggourt. Having come byrail, their first camp was made in the flat space of desert between thebig oasis town and the dunes. They were to stay only a few hours, forthe first stage of their march would begin long before sun-up, and mostof their leisure was to be spent in sleep. Yet somehow there was timefor a look at the sights of the place. One of these was a large Arabcafe on the outskirts of the town where the trampled sand of the streetsbecame a vast, flowing wave of gold. Four Eyes had been in Touggourtmore than once, having marched all the way from Bel-Abbes, long beforethe railway was begun or thought of. He urged Max to come into the lowwhite building where at dusk the raeita and the tomtom had begun toscream and throb.

  "Prettiest dancing girls of the Sahara," he said, "and a fellow there Iused to know in Bel-Abbes--in the Chasseurs--has just told me there's agreat show for to-night."

  There were several cafes in Sidi-bel-Abbes, where the proprietorsengaged Arab girls to dance, but Max, who had paid one visit, incuriosity, thought the women disgusting and the dancing dull. He saidthat he had no faith in the Touggourt attractions, and would rather takea stroll.

  "You don't know what you're talking about!" Four Eyes scouted hisobjections. "Haven't you heard the scandal about this Stanton, theexploring man, who's here--our colonel's old pal?"

  "No, I've heard that Stanton's at Touggourt. But I've heard no scandal,"answered Max. "What has he got to do with the dancing girls?"

  As he spoke, it was as if he saw Stanton sitting with Sanda DeLisle atone o
f the little tea-tables on the terrace of the Hotel St. George atAlgiers; the square, resolute, red-tanned face, and the big, square blueeyes, burning with aggressive vitality.

  "Everything to do with one of them," said Four Eyes. "That's thescandal. Seems Stanton's been playing the fool. They say he's half mad,anyhow, about a lot of things--always was, but it is a bit worse since atouch o' the sun he had a year or two ago. He's off his head about anOuled Nail--don't know whether she came here because of him, or whetherhe picked her up at Touggourt, but the story is, he could o' got awaybefore now, with his bloomin' caravan, on that d----d fool expedition ofhis you read of in the papers, only he couldn't bring himself to leavethis Ahmara, or whatever her crack-jaw name is. The chap that wastalkin' to me says she's the handsomest creature you'd see in alifetime, an' she's going to dance to-night to spite Stanton."

  "To spite him?" Max repeated, not understanding.

  "Yes, you d----d young greenhorn! Anybody'd know _you_ was new toAfrica! These girls, when they get to be celebrated for their looks orany other reason, won't dance in public as a general thing. They leavethat to the common ones, who need to do something to attract. Anyhow,Stanton wouldn't have let this Ahmara dance in a cafe before a crowd ofnomads from the desert. She lives with the dancing lot, because there'ssome law or other about that for these girls, but that's all, tillto-night. There's been a row, my old pal told me, because Stanton givesmy lady the tip not to come near or pretend to know him while his friendthe colonel is here. She's in such a beast of a rage she's announced tothe owner of the cafe that she'll dance to-night; and I bet every man inTouggourt except Stanton and DeLisle'll be there. You'll come, won'tyou?"

  "Yes, I'll come," said Max. He was ashamed of himself for so readilybelieving the scandal about Stanton, yet he did believe it. Stanton hadstruck him as the type of man who would stop at nothing he wanted to do.And Max was ashamed, also, because he felt an involuntary rush ofpleasure in thinking evil of Stanton. He knew what that meant. He hadbeen jealous of Stanton at Algiers, and he supposed he was mean enoughto be jealous of him still. If Sanda knew the truth, would she bedisgusted and cease to care for her hero, her "Sir Knight?" Maxwondered. But perhaps she would only be sad, and forgive him in herheart. Girls were often very strange about such things. Max, however,could not forgive Stanton for ignoring the exquisite blossom of lovethat might be his, and grasping instead some wild scarlet flower of thedesert not fit to be touched by a hand that had pressed Sanda's littlefingers. He did not know whether or not to be equally ashamed of thecuriosity which made him say to Pelle that he would see the dancer; buthe yielded to it.

  Already the great bare cafe was filling up. In the dim yellow light oflamps that hung from the ceiling, or branched out from the smoky,white-washed walls, the throng of dark men in white burnouses, crowdingthe long benches or sitting on the floor, was like a company of ghosts.Their shadows waved fantastically along the walls as they strodenoiselessly in, wild as spirits dancing to the voice of their masterSatan, the seductive raeita. At one end of the room sat the musicians,all giant negroes, the scars and tattoo marks on their sweating blackfaces giving them a villainous look in the wavering light. They wereplaying the bendir, the tomtom, the Arab flute, as well as the raeita;but the raeita laughed the other music down.

  This cafe was celebrated for the youth and beauty of its dancers, andone after another delicate little sad-faced girls, almost children,danced and waved gracefully their thin arms tinkling with silverbracelets, but the ever-increasing crowd of Arabs and French officersand soldiers (tourists there were none at that time of year) scarcelytroubled to look at the dainty figures. They were waiting, eager-eyed.If Max had not known beforehand that something was expected, he wouldhave guessed it. At last she came, the great desert dancer said to bethe most beautiful Ouled Nail of her generation.

  Max did not see how or whence she arrived, but he heard the rustling andindrawing of breaths that heralded her coming. And then she was there,in the square left open for the dancing. All the light in the roomseemed to focus upon her, so did she scintillate from head to foot withspangles. Even he felt a throb of excitement as the tall, erect figurestood in the space between the benches, eying the audience from under along veil of green tissue almost covered with sparkling bits of gold andsilver. On her head she wore a high golden crown, and under the greenveil fell a long square shawl of some material which seemed wovenentirely of gold. Her dress was scarlet as poppy petals, and sheappeared to be draped in many layers of thin stuff that flashed outmetallic gleams. For a long moment she stood motionless. Then, when shehad made her effect, suddenly she threw up her veil. Winding it aroundher arm, she snatched it off her head, and paused again, unsmiling,statue-still, except for her immense dark eyes, encircled with kohl,which darted glances of pride and defiance round the silent room.Perhaps she was looking for some one whom she half expected might bethere. Max felt the long-lashed eyes fix themselves on him. Then,receiving no response, they passed on and shot a fiery challenge intothe eyes of a young caid in a gold-embroidered black cloak, who bentforward from his carpeted bench in a dream of admiration.

  She was perfect in her way, a living statue of pale bronze, with theeyes of a young tigress and the mouth of a passionate child. The goldcrown, secured with a scarf of glittering gauze, the rows of goldencoins that hung from her looped black braids over her bosom and down tothe huge golden buckle at her loosely belted waist, gave her the look ofan idol come to life and escaped from some shrine of an eastern temple.As she moved, to begin the promised dance, she exhaled from her body andhair and floating draperies strange, intoxicating perfumes which seemedto change with her motions--perfumes of sandalwood and ambergris andattar-of-rose.

  For the first time Max understood the meaning of the Ouled Nail dance.This child-woman of the desert, with her wicked eyes and sweet mouth,made it a pantomime of love in its first timid beginnings, its fears andhesitations, its final self-abandon and rapture. Ahmara was a dangerousrival for a daughter of Europe with such a man as Richard Stanton.

  When she had danced once, she refused to indulge the audience again, butstaring scorn at the company, accepted a cup of coffee from the handsomeyoung caid in the black mantle. She sat beside him with a fierce air ofbravado, and ignored every one else, as though the dimly lit room inwhich her spangles flamed was empty save for their two selves. So shewould have sat by Max if he had given back glance for glance; but hepushed his way out quickly when Ahmara's dance was over, and drew inlong, deep breaths of desert air, sweet with wild thyme, before he daredlet himself even think of Sanda. Sanda, who loved Stanton--with thisrecompense!

  As he walked back to camp, to take what rest he could before the earlystart, he met a sergeant of his company, a tall Russian, supposed to bea Nihilist, who had saved himself from Siberia by finding sanctuary inthe Legion.

  "I have sent two men to look for you," he said. "The colonel wants you.Go to his tent at once."

  Max went, and at the tent door met Richard Stanton coming out. Maxrecognized his figure rather than his features, for the light was at hisback. It shone into the Legionnaire's face as he stepped aside to letthe explorer pass, but Stanton's eyes rested on the corporal of theLegion without interest or recognition. The colonel had just bidden himgood-bye, and he strode away with long, nervous strides. "Will he go tothe cafe and see Ahmara with the caid?" The thought flashed throughMax's mind, but he had no time to finish it. Colonel DeLisle was callinghim into the tent.

  The only light was a lantern with a candle in it; yet saluting, Max sawat once that the colonel's face was troubled.

  "Have I done anything I oughtn't to have done?" he questioned himselfanxiously, but the first words reassured as much as they surprised him.

  "Corporal St. George, I sent for you because you are the only one amongmy men of whom I can ask the favour I'm going to ask."

  "A favour--from me to you, my Colonel?" Max echoed, astonished.

  "Yes. You asked me for one the other night, and I granted it because i
twas easy, but this is different. This is very hard. If you do the thing,you will lose the march and the fight which we may come in for at theend. Is there anything that could make up to you for such a sacrifice?"

  "But, my Colonel," answered Max, "you have only to give me your orders,and whatever they may be I shall be happy to carry them out." He spokefirmly, yet he could not hide the fact that this was a blow. He hadlooked forward to the march, hard as it might be, and to the excitementat the end as a thirsty man looks forward to a draught of water.

  "But I am not going to give you any orders," said DeLisle. "It would notbe fair or right. This is a private matter. I have just received aletter from my daughter with rather bad news. I told you she wasstaying in the house of one of the great chiefs of the south, a friendof years' standing, who has a daughter of her age. I needn't give youdetails, but Sanda has unfortunately offended this man in perhaps theone way an Arab, no matter how enlightened, cannot forgive. From whatshe tells me I can't wholly blame him for his anger, but--it'simpossible for her to stop longer in his house. Not that she's indanger--no! that's incredible, Ben Raana being the man he is. An Arab'sideas of hospitality would prevent his offering to send a guest away, nomatter how much he might want to be rid of her. Yet I can't endure thethought of asking him for a caravan and guard after what seems to havehappened. You realize that it is impossible for me to go myself. My dutyis with my regiment. Once before, you watched over my daughter on ajourney--watched over her as a brother might watch over a sister. Thatis why I ask, as a favour from one man to another, whether you would bewilling to go to the Agha's house and escort my daughter here toTouggourt. I know how much I am exacting of a born soldier likeyourself."

  "My Colonel, you are conferring on me the Cross of the Legion ofHonour!" Max cried out impulsively.

  "Then you accept?"

  "I implore you to accept _me_ for the service."

  "But do you thoroughly understand what it means? We go on without you.It will be hopeless for you to follow us. I give you eight days' leave,which will be ample time for the engaging of a small caravan--three orfour good men and the wife of one to act as servant to mydaughter--going to Ben Raana's place at Djazerta, arriving again atTouggourt, and returning to Bel-Abbes. I shall have to send you backthere, you see. There's nothing else to do."

  "I understand, my Colonel. But though I'm sorry to lose the experience,I'd rather be able to do this for you and for Mademoiselle DeLisle thananything else."

  "Thank you. That's settled then, except details. We'll arrange them atonce, for you must get off to-morrow as soon as possible after ourstart. Another man must be appointed in your place, Corporal. AtSidi-bel-Abbes you shall have special work while we are gone. Therehasn't been much time for thinking since I got the news, but I havethought that out. At first, I may as well tell you, my idea was to askStanton to put off his expedition and go to Ben Raana's. But--somethingI heard to-night turned me against that plan. I should like to haveanother man with you out of the regiment in case of trouble. Not thatthere can be trouble! But I shouldn't feel justified in asking for asecond volunteer. All the men are so keen! It's bad enough to send oneaway on a private matter of my own, and----"

  In his flush of excitement the soldier interrupted his colonel.

  "Sir, I know of one! My friend would be glad to go with me!"

  "You speak of Garcia again?"

  "Yes, my Colonel."

  "Are you sure of him?"

  "I am sure."

  "Very well. Talk to him then. Come back to me afterward, and I'll giveyou all instructions."

  The name of the Agha and the name of the place where he lived wereringing through Max's head. Ben Raana--Djazerta!

  The father of the girl Manoeel Valdez loved and must save was the Agha ofDjazerta. Now Valdez need not desert!