INTO THE VALLEY OF MYSTERY The upraised blade, poised for swift murder, did not descend.

With a groan from the heart's core, Rrisa let fall his trembling hand, as he recoiled toward the vague patch of starlight that marked the cabin window.
"_Bismillah_!" he whispered hoarsely.

"I cannot! This is my sheik--'and thrice cursed is the hand that slays the sheik.' I cannot kill him!" For a moment he remained there, pondering.

Swift, passionate thoughts surged through his brain, which burned with fever.

In Rrisa's fighting-blood the supreme battle of his whole existence was aflame--duty of annihilating the violator of his Faith combating duty of loyalty absolute to one whose salt he had eaten, to one who had preserved his life.
So, in the dark he stood there, a shadow among shadows.