“Yes,” I said.
Why did I wish it? I hardly know. I had no fear for, no desire to
protect myself. But I remembered the smile I had seen, the Spahi’s
saying, “There will be death in Sidi-Massarli to-night,” and I was
resolved that the three men who had heard the desert drum together
should not be parted till the morning. D’oud said no more. He waited
upon me with his usual diligence, but I could see that he was furiously
angry. The Spahi ate ravenously. So did the murderer, who more than
once, however, seemed to be dropping to sleep over his food. He was
apparently dead tired. As the wind was now become very violent I did
not feel disposed to stir out again, and I ordered D’oud to bring us
three cups of coffee to the Bordj. He cast a vicious look at the
Spahi and went out into the darkness. I saw him no more that night. A
boy from the Café Maure brought us coffee, cleared the remains of our
supper from the table, and presently muttered some Arab salutation,
departed, and was lost in the wind.
The murderer was now frankly asleep with his head upon the table, and
the Spahi began to blink. I, too, felt very tired, but I had something
still to say. Speaking softly, I said to the Spahi:
“That sound we heard to-night⸺”
“Monsieur?”
“Have you ever heard it before?”
“Never, monsieur. But my brother heard it just before he had a stroke
of the sun. He fell dead before his captain beside the wall of Sada. He
was a tirailleur.”
“And you think this sound means that death is near?”
“I know it, monsieur. All desert people know it. I was born at
Touggourt, and how should I not know?”
“But then one of us⸺”