nd filled a
copper cup with the water.

"Drink," he said, holding it out to each of us in turn. We obeyed.

"Drink again," he ordered. "You will save just so much of the contents
of your water skins. Now try not to be thirsty before sunset."

He looked over the saddle girths.

"That's all right," he murmured. "Now go. In two hours the dawn will
be here. You must be out of sight."

I was filled with emotion at this last moment; I went to the Targa and
took his hand.

"Cegheir-ben-Cheikh," I asked in a low voice, "why are you doing
this?"

He stepped back and I saw his dark eyes gleam.

"Why?" he said.

"Yes, why?"

He replied with dignity:

"The Prophet permits every just man, once in his lifetime, to let pity
take the place of duty. Cegheir-ben-Cheikh is turning this permission
to the advantage of one who saved his life."

"And you are not afraid," I asked, "that I will disclose the secret of
Antinea if I return among Frenchmen?" He shook his head.

"I am not afraid of that," he said, and his voice was full of irony.
"It is not to your interest that Frenchmen should know how the Captain
met his death."

I was horrified at this logical reply.

"Perhaps I am doing wrong," the Targa went on, "in not killing the
little one.... But she loves you. She will not talk. Now go. Day is
coming."

I tried to press the hand of this strange rescuer, but he again drew
back.

"Do not thank me. What I am doing, I do to acquire merit in the eyes
of God. You may be sure that I shall never do it again neither for you
nor for anyone else."

And, as I made a gesture to reassure him on that point, "Do not
protest," he said in a tone the mockery of which still sounds in my
ears. "Do not protest. What I am doing is of value to me, but not to
you."

I looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"Not to you, Sidi Lieutenant, not to you," his grave voice continued.
"For you will come back; and when that day comes, do not count on the
help of Cegheir-ben-Cheikh."

"I will come back?" I asked, shuddering.

"You will come back," the Targa replied.

He was standing erect, a black statue against the wall of gray rock.

"You will come back," he repeated with emphasis. "You are fleeing now,
but you are mistaken if you think that you will look at the world with
the same eyes as before. Henceforth, one idea, will follow you
everywhere you go; and in one year, five, perhaps ten years, you will
pass again through the corridor through