ge, even to himself: the stores were not satisfactory; the oil
provided was not good; camels fell ill and substitutes had to be got; he
was obliged to wait for corn to be ground into the African substitute
for macaroni; Winchester rifles and ammunition promised for his fighting
men did not turn up till long after the date specified in his contract.
But now he was off on the great adventure; and, gloriously sure that all
credit would be his, he was sincerely glad to have Max as a follower,
humble yet congenial.

His meeting with Sanda seemed to Stanton a good omen. Since Ahmara had
deserted him in a fury, because of the humiliation put upon her during
DeLisle's visit, he had been in a black rage. Days had been lost in
searching for her, because she had disappeared. He had dreamed at night
of choking the dancer's life out, and shooting the man who had stolen
her from him, for he had no doubt of the form her revenge had taken. In
the end, he had decided to put her from his mind, persuading himself
that he was sick to death of the tigress-woman whom he had thought of
carrying with him on the long desert march. Still, he had been sad and
thwarted, and the music of the tomtoms and raeitas, instead of tributes
to his triumph, had been like voices mocking at his failure. Then Sanda
had magically appeared in the desert: fair and sweet as the moon in
contrast with the parching sun. He had held out his arms on the impulse
and she had fallen into them. Her youth, her white beauty in the blue
night, lit a flame in him, and he fanned it greedily. It was good to
know that he was young enough still to light another fire so soon on
half-cold ashes. He revelled in making himself believe that he loved the
girl. He respected and admired himself for it, and he drank in eagerly
the story she told him in whispers, at the door of her tent in the
night: the story of childish, hopeless hero-worship for her "Sir
Knight." He was so confident of her adoring love that jealousy of Max
would have seemed absurd, though Max was twenty-six and Stanton twenty
years older. If it had occurred to him that Max might be romantically in
love with Sanda, the idea would not have displeased him or made him
hesitate to take the younger man as a member of his escort. There was a
cruel streak running through Stanton's nature which even Sanda dimly
realized, though it did not diminish her love. There were moods when he
enjoyed seeing pain and inflicting it; and there w