I promised to tell no more than I had seen and heard. On the
strength of that we became as fast friends as suspicion
permitted. We trusted each other, because we more or less had
to, like a couple of thieves "on the lam." It suited me. He was
a very good interpreter and slavishly anxious to please. But I
lived to regret it later. When my evidence had cleared him of
collusion in the raid, he chose on the strength of that to claim
me as his friend for life. He turned up in the United States and
tried to live on his wits. I had to pay a lawyer to defend him
in Federal Court. He writes me piously pathetic letters from
Leavenworth Penitentiary. And when he gets out I suppose I
shall have to befriend him again. However, at the moment, he
was useful.

It was just dawn when old Anazeh ran the launch into a cove
between high rocks. Ahmed let out a shriek of anguish at the
violence done the hull. They pitched the sheep overboard to
wade ashore without remembering to untie its legs; it was
almost drowned before it occurred to any one to rescue it.
Perhaps it was dead. I don't know. Anyhow, one fellow prayed
in a hurry while his companion cut the sheep's throat to make
it lawful meat.

"God is good," old Anazeh remarked to me, "and blessed be His
Prophet, who forbade us faithful, even though we hunger, to
defile ourselves with the flesh of creatures whose blood did not
flow from the knife of the slayer."

After that they all prayed, going first into the oily-feeling,