The Mahdi laughed. “And are you frightened of a poor snake skin?” he asked, sneeringly. “Wait and see.” He took up the snake by the end of the tail and it remained stiff. The thing looked as if it was expanding. “Surely it is moving,” exclaimed Ibrahim. “Yes; look. Isn’t it splendid?” asked Max, admiringly. There was no mistake about it. The thing was endowed with life. Its forked tongue shot in and out its ugly mouth. Its body writhed and wriggled, as if it resented being so tightly grasped by its tail. The Mahdi dropped it. The reptile coiled itself as if ready for a spring. The men shrieked. The unbelievers slunk away. The believers were delighted and yet awe-stricken at the miracle. The Mahdi grasped the snake round its neck just as it was about to spring. The body straightened out, and looked stiff and lifeless. It gradually shrunk until it became again the empty piece of skin, so small that it could be held in the closed hand. Whether this was trick or miracle, sleight-of-hand performance or some freak of nature, the reader must determine. The Buddhist fakirs of India and the Mohammedan dervishes of Persia and Turkey perform the same thing to-day, save that they place the snake skin on the sand and cover it with a paper cone. When the cone is removed the skin has disappeared, and a live snake has taken its place. The unbelievers fell on their faces, and with one voice declared: “Thou art the Mahdi!” CHAPTER XXIII. UNDER THE MAHDI. To the simple minds of those Soudanese peasants and soldiers, the experiment, or trick, of the Mahdi, was sufficient evidence of his power and of the truth of his mission. Sherif el Habib, however, was grieved. He had seen the dervishes do a similar thing, and he wished that the Mahdi had shown his power in some other way. Not that any doubt crossed his mind, but Sherif el Habib wanted to believe that the Mahdi possessed a power unlimited, and which no one could imitate. Reading his thoughts, the Mahdi turned to him. “Believer from the glorious mosque of Khorassan, the proof of my power must be adapted to those who are witnesses of it. Had I said to this mountain: ‘Get thee back ten leagues,’ and it had obeyed, it would not have been more convincing than the snake transformation.” “To me it would,” said Max, “and if you will remove the mountain even ten feet, I’ll give up my country and adopt yours.” The Mahdi made no answer. He treated the young American with contempt. Sherif el Habib apologized for his speech, while Mohammed bowed his head, grieved that anyone in his caravan should speak so lightly or demand such a great miracle. Max was in disgrace. He wandered away and strolled near where the women members of the caravan were encamped. He walked about, his head bent down, for he was sorry that he had offended his friends. “What grieveth my brother?” asked a low, sweet voice at his side. He turned, and a female form stood beside him, heavily veiled.