them.

There is little danger in this tract of waste land to those familiar
with it. Numerous pools and oases sustain the traveller of experience.
Dirrag knew every inch of the desert, and as their present route was
across but one corner of it he entered fearlessly.

Night had fallen and the moon and stars were out when they halted the
weary horses beside a pool. Ahmed dismounted and had knelt beside the
water to drink when Dirrag suddenly grasped his shoulder and threw him
forcibly backward. He arose slowly, rearranged his burnous and cast an
enquiring look at his companion.

“The pool is poisoned,” said Dirrag.

Bending over, he pointed to the bottom of the shallow water, where the
moon shone on several slender twigs that were covered with a pale green
bark.

“It is from the shushalla--the snake-tree,” he said, gruffly. “A drop of
this water will bring instant death. This is very annoying. Our pools
are never poisoned without a purpose, my master. Perhaps we are
watched.”

“I saw a rider against the horizon, as we came up,” replied Ahmed.

He stretched his muscular arms, yawned with weariness and lay down upon
the sand, instantly becoming motionless. It was a trick of relaxation he
had learned at the Sunnite monastery.

Dirrag looked at him approvingly. The novitiate Hafiz had cast aside his
yellow robes with his monastic name, and now wore the simple dress of a
Baluch tribesman, without ornament or jewel of any sort. The fold of his
turban, however, proclaimed him a member of the tribe of Ugg, and the
cimeter at his side--the gift of the wily priest of Mehmet--was a weapon
of rare quality, its hilt sparkling with clustered gems. Dirrag, when he
first saw it, had made humble obeisance to the cimeter.

The former recluse also bore a short spear, with the accompanying
shield of hammered bronze, and these completed his equipment.

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