Cockney, who was nearly hysterical by this time. “Go on—give the order to fire—or …”
“Shut up, you little fool!” Tollemache took him by the collar and shook him. “If they are enemies, I am going to hold my fire until the very last moment. And if they are not enemies …”
“I tell you they are!”
“I am not sure. They wouldn't be such fools as to attack us in mass formation—not if, as you say, Al Nakia used to be in the service …”
And then, quite suddenly, Abderrahman Yahiah Khan raised a hairy, brown hand.
“Listen!” he said. “The saheb is right. These are not enemies. They are friends!”
And, through the sudden, dense silence, out of the mass of people on horse and camel back into which the oncoming cloud had steadily crystallized, a voice drifted forth:
“Marhaba Bik! Yah—Marhaba Bik!—Greetings! Greetings!”
The throaty shout tore clear from the gathering rush. A lonely rider detached himself. At full speed he galloped up, a white flag jerking crazily from the point of his long, tufted bamboo lance; and, a moment later, Abderrahman Yahiah Khan recognized him:
“Koom Khan! Koom Khan!”
“Salaam! A thousand salaams—and one—and yet another one!” replied the other, wheeling his horse so suddenly that it fell on its haunches and slid, squatting, through the soft sand. The next moment he was on his feet and ran the rest of the distance, his dyed beard
