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sunlight.
    It was still hot now, but later in the night it would
grow cold—cold enough to make a man want blankets. Porous rock does not hold
heat for long.
    Accompanied by most of the men in the village, they
trooped down the length of a ravine, avoiding boulders, climbing over
obstructions. Two rifles were close to Harvey’s shoulder blades, ready to blow
him apart.
    Caid Kirzigh was happy, joking with his men as he
walked. Harvey listened to him, trying to piece together the drift of affairs.
    Walking along the floor of another ravine, Harvey said, “Your plan, Kirzigh, would seem to be sound enough.”
    â€œThen you speak Arabic. I did not know.”
    â€œNot well, but enough. Your French, Kirzigh, is
excellent.”
    â€œAh, you like my French, hein ? I spent enough
time learning it. In Paris, you see. Among those Franzawi that came
after the Moors had left.”
    â€œBut don’t you think,” said Harvey, “that you’re letting
ambition run away from sense?”
    â€œHow do you mean?”
    â€œThis idea of wiping out the French. They have guns,
planes, soldiers by the division. They’d stop you before you could start.”
    â€œBrains and the courage of my men will do it,” said the
caid. “Of course this matter will take considerable time. We will wipe them
out, outpost by outpost, railhead by railhead. We have, mon capitaine, studied
the methods evolved by the Englishman, Lawrence , and find them to be quite
enough.”
    â€œBut to think of . . .”
    â€œOf a handful of tribesmen, Capitaine, growing
into an avalanche of running horses, flaming guns, wiping the Franzawi from
the face of the earth. And why not? They loot our villages. They take our women
and cast them aside—dead. They destroy our crops. They interfere with our
religion. Something must be done. It is not presumptuous to think that I am the
man to do it. Careful preparation . . . You know, I am sure.”
    They had come into the ravine where the plane had
landed. The Caudron spread its silent wings across the sand as though waiting
for its master. Its shadow was long in the shaft of faded sun which came down
to it.
    Distrustful of the ship, the Berbers stopped a hundred
paces in front of it, eyeing first the caid, then the wings. They had heard
this thing snarl. They had seen death pour out from it. And nothing Caid
Kirzigh could do would make the bulk of them continue on.
    Kirzigh looked into the faces of his men and then
shrugged.
    â€œIt is all right,” he said. “You are within easy shot of
a hundred good rifles. The three of us shall continue.”
    The three included one guard. The others hung back.
    The tail of the plane was pointing toward them. Kirzigh,
sword unsheathed, approached with sidelong glances at Harvey.
    â€œRemember,” said the caid,
“that should you try to get into that ship and away they will riddle you with
bullets. And if you are unlucky enough to be alive after such a move . . .”
    Harvey strode on, the rifle
probing into his spine. His face was quiet, composed. They reached the side of
the fuselage and Harvey pointed into the rear pit. “The charts are there.”
    â€œI shall remove them,” replied the caid. He rummaged
through the interior, a little dazed by the presence of so many strange things.
Presently, he backed away and pointed up. “You get them out.”
    Harvey grunted and climbed up
over the rim. He dropped to the seat and fumbled under the panel.
    Suddenly he straightened. Grabbing the butts of the twin
guns he swiveled them around and down with one fast jerk. The Berber rifle
exploded almost against his waist. The slug whirled him, numbed him. He clawed
at the butts, keeping his feet only through the force of will.
    The machine guns racketed. The guard fell, hands
extended. Kirzigh caught the burst in the chest and lower jaw.
    Rifles hammered and the tribesmen began to surge
forward. Harvey brought