It grew terribly hot. Fatou Anni, by his side, fanned him with a fan she had woven. The great-great-grandchildren on the floor in the mud fought together. They quarreled over bits of colored glass. Sabron's breath came panting. Without, he heard the cries of the warriors, the lance-bearers--he heard the cries of Fatou Anni's sons who were going out to battle. The French soldiers were in a distant part of the Sahara and Fatou Anni's grandchildren were going out to pillage and destroy. The old woman by his side cried out and beat her breast. Now and then she looked at him curiously, as if she saw death on his pale face. Now that all her sons and grandsons had gone, he was the only man left in the village, as even boys of sixteen had joined the raid. She wiped his forehead and gave him a potion that had healed her husband after his body had been pierced with arrows. It was all she could do for a captive. Toward sundown, for the first time Sabron felt a little better, and after twenty-four hours' absence, Pitchouné whined at the hut door, but would not come in. Fatou Anni called on Allah, left her patient and went out to see what was the matter with the dog. At the door, in the shade of a palm, stood two Bedouins. It was rare for the caravan to pass by Beni Medinet. The old woman's superstition foresaw danger in this visit. Her veil before her face, her gnarled old fingers held the fan with which she had been fanning Sabron. She went out to the strangers. Down by the well a group of girls in garments of blue and yellow, with earthen bottles on their heads, stood staring at Beni Medinet's unusual visitors. "Peace be with you, Fatou Anni," said the older of the Bedouins. "Are you a cousin or a brother that you know my name?" asked the ancient woman. "Every one knows the name of the oldest woman in the Sahara," said Hammet Abou, "and the victorious are always brothers." "What do you want with me?" she asked, thinking of the helplessness of the village. Hammet Abou pointed to the hut "You have a white captive in there. Is he alive?" "What is that to you, son of a dog?" "The mother of many sons is wise," said Hammet Abou portentously, "but she does not know that this man carries the Evil Eye. His dog carries the Evil Eye for his enemies. Your people have gone to battle. Unless this man is cast out from your village, your young men, your grandsons and your sons will be destroyed." The old woman regarded him calmly. "I do not fear it," she said tranquilly. "We have had corn and oil in plenty. He is sacred." For the first time she looked at his companion, tall and slender and evidently younger. "You favor the coward Franks," she said in a high voice. "You have come to fall upon us in our desolation."