his men.

Sanda did not "behave herself." Nothing less than force could have
dragged her to Stanton's tent, and the man openly found consolation with
Ahmara; at first, perhaps, partly in defiance, but, as time went on,
because such love as he had to give was for the "most fascinating
creature since Cleopatra." For the men of the caravan there was nothing
very startling in this arrangement. The law of their religion and
country gave each of them four wives, if he could afford to keep them.
Ahmara, darkly beautiful and bejewelled, condescended to travel with the
other women of her race, but when the camp was made she moved about
proudly, like an eastern queen, and went wherever it was her will to go.
Sometimes she passed nearer than was necessary to Sanda's tent, and
turning her crowned head on its full round throat let her long eyes
dwell on the rival who ignored her existence.

The life she had undertaken would have been impossible for Sanda without
Max. If he had not been there, a self-appointed watchdog, Ahmara would
certainly have insulted Stanton's white bride, or might even have
attempted to kill her. But Ahmara was afraid of Max St. George. She had
caught a murderous glint in his eye more than once, and knew that if she
crossed a certain dead line which that look defined he would not
hesitate to deal with her as with a wildcat.

As for Sanda, if she ever thought that Ahmara might stab her some night
when Max was off guard, she told herself that she did not care. She
longed for death as the one way out of the cage into which she had
foolishly flown, and would have prayed for it, if such a prayer were not
to her mind sacrilegious. She was too young to realize that to wish is
to pray. Sanda was always hoping that something might happen to put an
end to everything for her. She disregarded precautions which others took
against sunstroke. If there came up a sandstorm she stole away and faced
it while the rest sheltered, longing to be overwhelmed and blotted out
of existence. But it seemed extraordinarily difficult to die. And then,
there was always Max. Unfailingly he was on the spot to ward off danger,
or to save her from the effects of what he called her "carelessness,"
though he must have guessed the meaning underneath alleged imprudences.

Sanda never confided in Max, yet she was aware that he could not help
knowing why she refused to live with Stanton. She could not bear to
speak of her humiliation, and Max wou