Swarms of white-robed pilgrims came running in masses after the drifting shadow, knocking each other down, falling aver tent-pegs, stampeding pack-animals.

The confusion amazed the Legionaries as they watched all this excitement through their powerful glasses.
"It looks," thought the Master, with a smile, "as if our little surprise-party might be a lively affair.

Well, I am ready for it.
'Allah knows best, and time will show!'" All over the plain and through the city, myriads of little white puffs, drifting down-wind, showed the profusion of firing.

Now came the boom of a cannon from the Citadel--an unshotted gun, used only for calling the Faithful to prayer.

Its booming echo across the plain and up against the naked, reddish-yellow hills, still further whipped the blood-frenzy of the mad mobs.
Even the innumerable pigeons, "Allah's announcers,"[1] swirled in clouds from the arcades, mosques, and minarets surrounding the Haram, and from the Ka'aba itself, and began winging erratic courses all about the Forbidden City.