In this scene of cruelty there was one woman conspicuous among the rest. By her companions she was called Fatima. The old sailor, ignorant of Arabic feminine names, thought it a "misnomer", for of all his she-persecutors she was the leanest and scraggiest. Notwithstanding the poetical notions which the readers of Oriental romance might associate with her name, there was not much poetry about the personage who so assiduously assaulted Sailor Bill, pulling his whiskers, slapping his cheeks, and every now and then spitting in his face. She was something more than middle-aged, short squat, and meagre, with the eye-teeth projecting on both sides so as to hold up the upper lip and exhibit all the others in their ivory whiteness, with an expression resembling that of the hyena. This is considered beauty, a fashion in full vogue among her country-women who cultivate it with great care, though to the eyes of the old sailor it rendered the hag all the more hideous. But the skinning of the eye-teeth was not the only attempt at ornament made by this belle of the desert. Strings of black beads hung over her wrinkled bosom, circlets of white bone were set in her hair, armlets and bangles adorned her wrists and ankles, and altogether did her costume and behaviour betoken one distinguished among the crowd of his persecutors, in short, their sultana or queen. And such did she prove; for on the black sheik appropriating the old sailor as a stake fairly won in the game, and rescuing his newly acquired property from the danger of being damaged, Fatima followed him to his tent with such demonstrations as showed her to be if not the "favourite", certainly the head of the harem. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. STARTING ON THE TRACK. As already said, the mirth of the three midshipmen was brought to a quick termination. It ended on the instant of Sailor Bill's disappearance behind the spur of the sand-hills. At the same instant all three came to a stop, and stood regarding one another with looks of uneasiness and apprehension. All agreed that the maherry had made away with the old man-o'-war's-man. There could be no doubt about it. Bill's shouts, as he was hurried out of their hearing, proved that he was doing his best to bring to, and that the "ship of the desert" would not yield obedience to her helm. They wondered a little why he had not slipped off and let the animal go. They could not see why he should fear to drop down in the soft sand. He might have had a tumble, but nothing to do him any serious injury, nothing to break a bone or dislocate a joint. They supposed he had stuck to the saddle from not wishing to abandon the maherry, and in hope of soon bringing it to a halt.