As he expected, the wind filled out the palm leaves like a parachute and Max came to the ground so gently that the most pronounced skeptic was enthused, and ready to do anything for the young hero. “We have a mission!” Ibrahim said to the chief, “and thy people must help. In the desert there is an oasis, and on the oasis is a great man, one Sherif el Habib, who is seeking the Mahdi of his people. We wish to find him.” Ibrahim explained the locations of the oasis as well as he could, and the chief recognized it as being a place some adventurous member of his tribe had told him about. After some days absolute rest a caravan was formed, and with girls playing cymbals and others beating drums, Max and Ibrahim started on their journey across the desert to find their friends. CHAPTER XVIII. WHY OUR HEROES DESERT. For some hours the caravan passed through a country which was parklike, but parched by the dry weather. The ground was sandy, but firm, and interspersed with villages, all of which were surrounded with a strong fence of euphorbia. The girls kept up an incessant discord on the cymbals and drums, and the men, sent by the chief of the Gondos, were so impressed with the importance of their mission that every hundred yards or so they would stop, congratulate each other, and make some wonderful salaams before they continued the journey. At the end of the second day’s march, a tribe hostile to the Gondos was encountered. Five or six hundred naked savages appeared, well armed with lances, having flint heads, bows and arrows, and a peculiar weapon shaped almost like a sledge hammer--one side of the flint head being sharpened to a fine point, while the other was a hammer. One of their number stepped forward, and addressing Ibrahim asked: “Who are you?” “A traveler, wishing to cross the desert.” “Do you want ivory?” “We would hunt the elephant, and divide the spoil.” “Where do you come from?” Ibrahim answered proudly: “From Persia.” “It’s a lie!” was the emphatic reply made by the chief. “Very well,” answered Ibrahim; “what am I?” “A Turk.” “Allah forbid!” muttered the Persian. The chief pointed to Max. “Who is he?” “An American.” The native had never heard of such people, and he began to think Ibrahim was making a fool of him. The natives laughed and raised their weapons. Ibrahim, in a loud voice, told them that they were going to be killed if they dared to touch Max; that he could cause the storm to come and the wind to blow, and advised them to ask the Gondos. Among the few things saved from the boat in which they had made their perilous journey was a bottle of araki--a native spirit almost equal in power to proof alcohol. Max suggested that the hostile chief should be regaled with a little of the araki, and that his friendship should be purchased that way.