Ibrahim started as if a bomb had suddenly exploded beneath his feet. The Mahdi had read his thoughts exactly. “It is a wonder to thee,” he said, “but thy thoughts I can read.” “And mine?” asked Max. For a moment the Mahdi was silent and then replied: “Yes. Thy people are commercial. They would ally themselves with me if they could gain by it. Curiosity would prompt them, but thy land I shall never see.” “I am not English!” said Max, who thought that the Mahdi had referred to the British nation. “Thou speakest truly. Hadst thou been of that accursed infidel nation, the sword of the faithful would have pierced thee through.” “Tell me what thou knowest of me?” asked Max. “Thou hast been in the grave, and mid the bones of those who went before, left thine own father, and through a girl didst thou escape.” “It is true. Thy mind reading is wonderful. If ever being a Mahdi fails, come over to New York and you will just make millions, see if you don’t.” Mohammed, Sherif el Habib and Ibrahim laughed heartily at the characteristic speech delivered by Max. It so clearly corroborated the mind reading of the Mahdi. “What are you laughing at?” Max inquired, half vexed at Ibrahim, especially. “The Mahdi read your thoughts,” answered Ibrahim. “That is just why I said he would rake in the dollars in the States.” A number of the followers of Fashoda’s governor came to the camp and began asking questions of the Mahdi. Some asked on matters of faith and doctrine, and the Mahdi answered with convincing eloquence. Others asked for signs and miracles. The Mahdi’s face darkened. “Oh, ye of little faith!” he commenced, “is it necessary that I should work signs and wonders before you believe me?” “Moses did,” suggested one. “So did Mahomet.” “And a greater than Mahomet is here, for he is the promised Mahdi,” said Sherif el Habib. “I have journeyed over sea and land, have been across the great desert, to meet this Imaum, and I can die happy.” “The governor says all will die that follow him,” exclaimed one of the unbelievers. “Yes, the army of Rauf Pasha, and of Egypt and of England will crush all who follow the Mahdi.” The Mahdi saw that the unbelievers in his mission were gaining ground, and he must do something to convince them. His face wore a scowling expression as he resolved on his course. “Stand in a circle,” he ordered, and the crowd obeyed, quickly. “You, and you, and you,” he said, pointing to the unbelieving ones, “stand in the center.” Tremblingly the doubters obeyed, and the Mahdi drew from the folds of his dress a snake skin. He showed it to them all, and they admitted it was but the skin of a deadly snake. “Are you satisfied?” “Yes.” He opened out the skin and drew it through his hand until it was stretched to a length of six or seven feet, and was as stiff as a walking cane. He threw it on the ground in front of the unbelievers, and it laid there, stiff, inert, but yet terribly lifelike. The men recoiled.