only to their sheikh. Muza nodded imperceptibly, but sufficiently unto them who obeyed his lightest nod as law.
Then did the sullen spearmen loose their hold; Zack scrambled to his feet, brushing off the sand, and grumbling, "Dat ain't no way to treat a brudder—gittin' all dese white folks mixed up in nigger foolishness. I done been 'nishiated anyway."
Lykoff edged closer to Gargarin, clutching a keen knife in his pocket. He turned intensely pale as he passionately scanned the Bloodhound's face. If by this trick Gargarin got possession of his cipher, Lykoff meant to cut his throat—that much he could do for his slaughtered friends. His eyes flamed, but Lykoff never acted in haste. Old Reliable continued to brush the sand from his clothes. Not once did the negro feel his pocket to see if the capsule had been disturbed. For which Lykoff thought him wise. Presently Gargarin strolled back and took his seat; but there was no triumph in his step, and the other Russian knew it.
"Come along, Zack," Colonel Spottiswoode drew his negro towards the table they had just vacated. The loungers about the room settled down and in bated breath discussed the significant incident.
