er's tent! What could it mean? Fate was indeed playing into
his hands.

Stepping outside he passed to the rear of the girl's tent. There was
no sentry there, either! And now, boldly, he walked to the entrance
and stepped within.

Dimly the moonlight illumined the interior. Across the tent a figure
bent above the blankets of a bed. There was a whispered word, and
another figure rose from the blankets to a sitting position. Slowly
Albert Werper's eyes were becoming accustomed to the half darkness of
the tent. He saw that the figure leaning over the bed was that of a
man, and he guessed at the truth of the nocturnal visitor's identity.

A sullen, jealous rage enveloped him. He took a step in the direction
of the two. He heard a frightened cry break from the girl's lips as
she recognized the features of the man above her, and he saw Mohammed
Beyd seize her by the throat and bear her back upon the blankets.

Cheated passion cast a red blur before the eyes of the Belgian. No!
The man should not have her. She was for him and him alone. He would
not be robbed of his rights.

Quickly he ran across the tent and threw himself upon the back of
Mohammed Beyd. The latter, though surprised by this sudden and
unexpected attack, was not one to give up without a battle. The
Belgian's fingers were feeling for his throat, but the Arab tore them
away, and rising wheeled upon his adversary. As they faced each other
Werper struck the Arab a heavy blow in the face, sending him staggering
backward. If he had followed up his advantage he would have had
Mohammed Beyd at his mercy in another moment; but instead he tugged at
his revolver to draw it from its holster, and Fate ordained that at
that particular moment the weapon should stick in its leather scabbard.

Before he could disengage it, Mohammed Beyd had recovered himself and
was dashing upon him. Again Werper struck the other in the face, and
the Arab returned the blow. Striking at each other and ceaselessly
attempting to clinch, the two battled about the small interior of the
tent, while the girl, wide-eyed in terror and astonishment, watched the
duel in frozen silence.

Again and again Werper struggled to draw his weapon. Mohammed Beyd,
anticipating no such opposition to his base desires, had come to the
tent unarmed, except for a long knife which he now drew as he stood
panting during the first brief rest of the encounter.

"Dog of a Christian," he whispered,