Their dull minds, slowly reacting, could not grasp the significance of all this.
"The Feringi, Yusuf," cried another voice.

"And they are alone! What meaneth this ?" "_M'adri_" (I know not), ejaculated still another.

"But _kill--kill_!" Their attack was hopeless, but its bravery ranked perfect.

Their shouting charge down the chamber, sabers high, ended in grunting sprawls of white.

Not half-naked like the low-caste Maghrabi outside, but clad in Arab fashion, they lay there, with Legionaries' bullets in breast and brain.
The Master smiled, grimly, as he walked to one of the bodies and stirred it with his naked foot.