Soon shall Allah make thy countenance cold, O offspring of a one-eyed man!" Three hours after, the air-liner sighted a dim blue line that marked the Red Sea.

The Master pointed at this, with a strange smile.
"Once we pass that sea," he commented, "our goal is close.

The hour of great things is almost at hand!" "Provided we get some petrol," put in Bohannan.
"Faith, an open gate, that should have been closed, defeated Napoleon.
A few hundred gallons of gasoline--" "The gasoline is already in sight, Major," smiled the chief, his glasses on the coastline.

"That caravan--see there ?--comes very apropos." The Legion bore down with a rush on the caravan--a small one, not above fifty camels, but well laden.

The cameleers left off crying "_Ooosh! Ooosh!_" and beating their spitting beasts with their _mas'hab_-sticks, and incontinently took to their heels.