ere stories told of
things he had done in such moods: stories told in whispers; tales of
whipping black men to death when they had been caught deserting from his
caravans; tales of striking down insubordinates and leaving them
unconscious to die in the desert. It would have amused Stanton, if the
idea had presented itself, to think of a love-sick young man helplessly
watching him teach an uninstructed young girl the art of becoming a
woman. But the idea did not present itself. He was too deeply absorbed
in himself, and in trying to think how infinitely superior was a white
dove like Sanda to a creature of the Ahmara type. He wished savagely
that Ahmara might hear--when it was too late--of his marriage within a
few days after their parting.

When the wedding ceremony was over the caravan started on at once, in
order to reach, not too late, a certain small oasis on the route where
Stanton wished to camp on his marriage night. He described the place
glowingly to Max. There was no town there, he said, only a few tents
belonging to the chief of a neighbour tribe to Ben Raana's. The men
there guarded an artesian well whose water spouted up like a fountain.
Though the oasis was small, its palms were unusually beautiful, and the
group of tall trees with their spreading branches was like a green
temple set in the midst of the desert. Altogether, Stanton remarked, it
was an ideal spot for the beginning of a honeymoon. His eyes were more
brilliant than ever as he spoke, and Max turned his head away not to see
the other man's face, because the look on it made him want to kill
Stanton. The martyrdom he knew awaited him had already begun.

Before starting into the unknown Max bought from the leader of his own
camel-men some garments which Khadra had washed for her husband at Ben
Raana's _douar_. They were to be ready for his return to Touggourt, and
were still as clean as the brackish water of the desert could make them.
Dressed as an Arab, Max made a parcel of his uniform with its treasured
red stripes of a corporal; and having addressed it for the post, paid
the camel-driver to send it off for him from Touggourt to
Sidi-bel-Abbes. The unpardonable sin of a deserting Legionnaire is to
rob France of the uniform lent him for his soldiering. But returning her
property to the Republic, Max sent no letter of regret or apology. He
was a deserter, and to excuse himself for deserting would be an insult
to the Legion. Nobody except DeLisle