“That's it!” Bill snapped. “But what about the squadron commander? Have you checked on him?”
“I'm doing that now,” Kestrel said wearily.
“Don't you have some idea who is behind all this?” Bill asked. “Hasn't some native sheik or former ruler made trouble for you?”
“Plenty of them,” Kestrel said. “The French have had the same trouble in Syria. The Arabs have been dreaming of one great Arab State for hundreds of years. An Arab State ruled by Arabs, without a mandate.”
“But where,” Bill asked with as much patience as he could muster, “are their headquarters? Where can they hide those planes right under your nose?”
“ And just who disgraced and then murdered Douglas?” Shorty snapped.
Kestrel groaned as they threw the questions at him. He was in the last throes of despair. His bronzed face was white and haggard; his hands shook as he poured himself a drink and downed it in one gulp.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “I would give my life to be able to answer those questions. And I've got to find the answer soon or Trans-Jordan is going to flow deep with human blood.
“Whoever is the leader of this rebellion is working with sagacity and craft. Usually different tribes of Arabs will not band together—not even against a common enemy. They prefer to go their own way, fighting their own battles. But, now they are being cleverly welded together, if I can believe the reports that are coming to me from our intelligence units. They are ready to strike in unison when they receive the word. When they do, the slaughter will be frightful.
“The desert tribesmen are mad fanatics when they go into action. They lose all control of themselves. Their only desire is to murder, torture, and plunder. They have always believed that the desert belongs to them. That is why they prey on caravans and pilgrimages to Mecca. They believe they are justified in murdering and plundering. They would delight in cutting all of our throats.
“That is why I would advise you to go on to Cairo or Alexandria as soon as you can move Gleason. You will be safe there. You —-”
“We'II stay here,” Bill said decisively. “We're sticking. You asked for our aid before. Now you're going to get it. Remember, Douglas has been killed and one of my men dangerously wounded. That's reason enough for me to see the thing through.
“But now,” Bill went on, “I've got to have some sleep. I can't go on until I've had a few hours rest. You'll let me know if anything develops with Gleason?”
“I'll let you know ,” Kestrel said.
Shorty followed Bill from the room.
SHORTY HASSFURTHER strode across the landing field at Ma'an shortly after breakfast the next morning. His face was like a thundercloud.
Bill had told young Sandy to stand by where he could find him—and Sandy had disappeared. Shorty had an idea where he could find him, and why. He swung along a string of buildings at the edge of the field. These were the stables.
In a small corral between two of the buildings he came upon Sandy. He stopped abruptly as he heard a string of words coming from Sandy's lips, and his scowl changed to a grin. He saw that Sandy was talking to the horse he had ridden into Ma'an the night before, and he saw that he was deadly serious about it. He was making emphatic gestures as he recited poetry to the horse. Shorty stifled his laughter and listened.
—- “Away! the fevered dream is o'er,
I could not live a day, and know
that we should meet no more!
Who said that I would give thee up?
Who said that thou wast sold?
'Tis false — 'tis false, my Arab steed!
I fling them back their gold!
Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back,
and scour the distant plains!
Away! Who overtakes us now shall
claim thee for his pains!”
With the last words Sandy fastened his hand in the horse's mane and started to swing himself to its back. But Sandy's movements were too quick. They frightened the horse and he went shooting to one side and came down with his legs stiff. At the same instant Sandy went shooting in the other direction and came down on the back of his neck.
Shorty could restrain his laughter no longer. He threw back his head and howled with glee.
“You gave him too much juice when you tried to get off the ground, kid,” he shouted. “You want to be careful or you'll rip out your undercarriage.”
Sandy rolled over on his stomach and looked at the horse, then at Shorty. His face was red and his eyes were spitting fire.
“You hit him with something,” he said to Shorty.
''I didn't hit him with anything,” Shorty denied. “He just doesn't recognize you. You aren't wearing one of those head cloths and mantle.” Shorty's face was grave now. “You've got to dress like an Arab if you expect to ride Arabian horses,” he went on.
“They're funny that way. I read an article about it once. They won't let ally one ride them if he doesn't wear a head cloth.”
Sandy studied Shorty's face suspiciously as he climbed to his feet. “You sure about that, Shorty?” he asked.
“ Absolutely, kid,” Shorty said solemnly. “You want to get one of those gay headdresses and a silk cloak with a leather girdle around it, and a dagger in the belt. Then your horse will eat out of your hand!'
“I wonder,” Sandy said, “where a fellow could buy them?”
“Oh, almost any place,” Shorty answered. “But right now Bill wants you. We're going over to Douglas' rooms to take a look around, and he wants you along.”
“0.K.
“Yeah. But don't forget it,” Shorty said earnestly. “You can't expect to ride one these horses without 'em.”
Sandy looked at Shorty out of the corners of his eyes again. He was almost sure that Shorty wasn't kidding him. But he wasn't positive. He had had too many such experiences with Shorty in the past to be certain.
“Say, Shorty,” he said suddenly, “how do you suppose I can get this horse back to Barnes Field? It's just the horse I've always wanted.”
“We'll take care of that when we come to it,” Shorty answered, trying to suppress a grin. “Don't worry, we'll find a way.”
X—JEZZAR
BILL, Shorty, Sandy and Wing Commander Kestrel spent an hour going over the things in Douglas' room, trying to find some clue to the secret that had been in Douglas' possession.
While they were there, messengers came constantly with dispatches and reports for Kestrel. With each one his expression became more glum and desperate. Finally he blew up.
“I can't see that this is getting us any place. While we poke around here the natives are getting ready to fall on our necks,” he said.
“Sandy and I will look around here a bit longer,” Bill said. “Shorty, you go back with Kestrel and see how Red is coming along.”
Kestrel hesitated, but in a moment he took his leave, followed by Shorty.
When they were gone, Bill turned to Sandy. “Douglas' servant has been hanging around trying to tell me something with his eyes. He was afraid of Kestrel. He's outside the door, I think. Call him in.”
Sandy went 9ut the door and came back in a few minutes with a man who was both frightened and inarticulate. Bill spoke to him both kindly and sternly. The man shook his head and began to jabber in Arabic:
“Take it easy,” Bill said. “Can you speak any English?”
“Few words,” the servant answered. “You want to tell us something?” Bill asked slowly, enunciating each
