for it rested on the green turban of Yusef, the drunken ghaffir. Yusef's
eyes were almost shut; his face had the grey look of fresh-killed veal,
for he had come from an awful debauch of hashish.

"Allah! Allah!" cried Mahommed Selim, for that was the sound which
always waked the torpid brain of Yusef since Wassef the camel-driver's
skull had crackled under his naboot.

Yusef's wide shoulders straightened back, his tongue licked his lips, his
eyes stared before him, his throat was dry. He licked his lips again.
"Allah!" he cried and ran forward.

The soldiers thrust Yusef back. Mahommed Selim turned and whispered to
the sergeant.

"Backsheesh!" he said; "my grey Arab for a word with Yusef the ghaffir."

"Malaish!" said the sergeant; and the soldiers cleared a way for Yusef.

The palms of the men from Beni Souef met once, twice, thrice; they
touched their lips, their breasts, their foreheads, with their hands,
three times. Then Mahommed Selim fell upon the breast of Yusef and
embraced him. Doing so he whispered in his ear:

"In the name of Allah, tell Soada I died fighting the Dervishes!"

"So be it, in God's name!" said Yusef. "A safe journey to you, brother
of giants."

Next morning at sunrise, between two dom-palms, stood Mahommed Selim; but