Derek came sauntering in and scaled his sun helmet onto his own desk.
"Good morning, Mademoiselle," he said. And to Johnny, "Hiram, that city
slicker from Timbuktu just came up with his posse."
Hélène said, "What is this _Si_, _Hiram_ and _Reuben_ which you call
each other?"
Johnny smiled sourly, "In a way, Miss Desage, this is just one great
tree farm. And all of us are farmers. So we make jokes about it."
He thought for a moment. "Derek, possibly you better take over with
Mohammed. I want to get over to In Ziza with Reuben."
"To see about the pumps?" Hélène said innocently.
Johnny frowned but was saved from an answer by the entrance of Mohammed
Mohmoud. He was dark as a Saharan becomes dark, his original Berber
blood to be seen only in his facial characteristics. He wore the rather
flamboyant Mali Federation desert uniform with an air.
When he saw the girl, his eyebrows rose and he made the Moslem salaam
with a sweeping flourish.
Johnny said, "Mademoiselle Desage, may I present Captain Mohammed
Mohmoud ould Cheikh, of the Mali desert patrol." He added sourly, "The
officer in charge of preventing nomads from filtering up from the south
into our infant forests."
The Moslem scowled at him. "They could have come from the east,
from Timmissao," he said in quite passable English. "Or even from
Mauritania." He turned his eyes to Hélène Desage. "_Enchanté,
Mademoiselle. Trés heureux de faire ta connaissance._"