As it finally came right up close the vim of Verbeena's interest grew somewhat vitiated. There were twenty camels and a big bunch of horsemen, and proximity proved that they were bathed in sunlight alone. Several of the camels halted and knelt and a dozen figures jounced down from the palanquins whose curtains hadn't been changed that Spring. The figures she knew to be those of Sahara ladies. "How about this outfit, Queen?" asked Musty Ale. "Nope--don't care about 'em." "Good as any other, your majesty." "That's what I get for paying you a flat rate for this job!" cried Verbeena fiercely, truculently. "You want to have it over as quickly as possible. Why, that caravan is going straight back to Biscuit! You know very well that it's a month for me in the desert or nothing. I went all over it with you about six thousand times. Nothing under a month will do and it will not be until we have traveled six days deep on this old sandcarpet, Musty, you brass-faced blurb, before I'll begin looking about for more permanent arrangements. What a ninny I was to have paid you two dollars in advance!" O'er the swart features of the under Shereef shot a spasm of anger. But he dodged a cigarette butt with fine skill and masked his feelings under glinting eyes. "Give my compliments to that grimy-looking outfit," said Verbeena tartly, "and let's step along." [Illustration: MUSTY ALE, A LOW, UNSCRUPULOUS FELLOW.] "#$%&) )$""&&&%***'!!!!" (Chesty Redhead!) murmured Musty Ale when he was well out of range. Suddenly a white figure, big as a circus tent and looking the same, detached itself from the other roughriders, whirled up to Musty and the black whiskers of this new demon parted widely showing a very superior set of sharply pointed white fangs. "_Hollerwoller, hippolo, jazzamarabi zop zing!_" "I wouldn't care if you did," replied Musty promptly. "How much?" "Eighty-six beans!" said the big feller. And before the other's eyes he bobbed a large goatskin purse which jingled. "Marks or francs?" "O, my well-known Allah! Better'n 'nat! American pennies! How's that hippolohit yer?" "Gimme that bag! She's yours." Musty Ale shoved the coin of treachery next to a half loaf of bread under his sandy jelab. As the other wheeled his magnificent charger to spur it to a violent gallop, Musty suddenly called: "_Hup!_" (Halt!) "What?" "She likes to be called 'Queen.'" "And who is she that I--but thanks for the tip. Allah keep the fleas off you, me lad." "Thanks yourself," answered Musty, "although he never has yet." But the white circus tent on the plunging black beastie was already far away. CHAPTER IV Verbeena had thought when Musty Ale held back to have a talk with the large gentleman in the white wrappings her sulky retainer was doubtless obeying her order to tell the person who seemed to be the Admiral Beattie of the desert ships, that in the matter of her joining his particular caravan there would be nothing the whatsoever doing.