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She was aroused by a sound unexpected and terrible—the gallop of many steeds. The noise drew near apace. A voice cried:

“Halt at the tree and rest.”

At that she flung herself face downward upon the ground and knew no more, until a conversation arose so close to her that it was matter for wonder how the speakers escaped contact with her body.

“It is a Bedawi, I say.”

“It is some beast.”

“Pronounce, O Nesìb the Thief, thou lord of two good eyes. What seest thou?”

“I see nothing marvelous. Yonder is a man in white raiment, praying toward Mekka. And here, not far distant, is a black donkey at grass, bearing a pack saddle, but no load thereon.”

“Ha, ha! Is there light to tell black from white?”

“Others may not, but the Thief can surely.”

“The man is a Bedawi. Let us take his head with the others. So shall my sons be avenged. Praise be to Allah! We know now that they go to El Cûds, these dogs; and we go also to El Cûds. Are they not between our two hands?... Yon wretch has finished his prayers. Let us slay him and reap his head.... What kind of man is he? I cannot see for the light beyond.”