his men to take cover. Two days before
Crawford had checked out several of the more bright-eyed on the flac
rifle and now three of them ran to where it was set up at a high
point.

But hardly had the confused milling got under way than it fell off
again. Movement stopped, and the Tuareg faced the approaching dot in
the sky.

"Djinn...!"

"Afrit...!"

Cliff had darted back into the tent, now he emerged with binoculars.

"What the devil is it?" Crawford snapped. Desert trained eyes were
evidently considerably more effective than his own. He couldn't see
what the tribesmen were gaping at.

"It's the smallest heliohopper _I've_ ever seen," Cliff snorted. "It's
so small practically all you can see are the rotors and the passenger.
He doesn't even look as though he's got a seat."

Guemama came hurrying up, his eyes wide beneath his teguelmoust. "El
Hassan! A witchman ... come out of the sky!"

Homer said evenly, "It is nothing. Only post men ready to obey my
commands."

Guemama hesitated as though to waver out another protest, but then
spun and hurried off--military-like, glad to have an order to obey to
keep his mind from the impossible.

"I'm beginning to have a sneaking suspicion--" Crawford began without
finishing. "Come on Isobel, Cliff. We're going to have to make the
most of this."

* * * * *

Rex Donaldson, ex-field man for the African Department of the British
Commonwealth, dropped the lift lever of his heliohopper and settled to
the ground immediately before Homer Crawford who stood there flanked
by Isobel Cunningham and Cliff Jackson. Further back and in the form
of a crescent were possibly two or three hundred Tuareg of all ages
and both sexes.

Donaldson, in the garb of a Dogan juju man consisting of little more
than a wisp of cloth about his loins, played it straight, not knowing
the setup. On the face of it, he had just flown out of the sky
_personally_. The size of his equipment so small as to be all but
meaningless.

He unstrapped himself from the thin, bicyclelike seat, and,
expressionlessly, folded the rotors of his tiny craft back over
themselves and the engine, collapsed the whole thing into a manageable
packet of some seventy-five pounds, the seat now becoming a handle,
and then turned and faced Crawford.

Donaldson screwed his wizened face into an expression of respect and
made a motion of obeisance. Then he waited.

Isobel said, "El Hassan bids you