one, two, three—hundreds—thousands—millions upon millions of jewels, dancing before his eyes to madden him. On the sand beside Old Reliable lay the overturned and empty treasure box. The stricken Dongalawi stood mute, confronting a nightmare of triumphant black faces sneering into his; a hideous vision of jewels, jewels, jewels which mocked him with their sparkle. Tremblingly he put out his finger and touched a badge, then dropped, beat his head against the earth, groveled face downward, rolled on his back and screamed. Zack promptly dashed a pail of water into his face.
"What's the matter with Said?" Major Lyttleton ran up and demanded. For the first time Zack noticed the three white men, who now stood over the writhing Dongalawi.
"He got a fever. Side's been sick fer de longes'"
"But this knife?" Lyttleton stooped to pick up the evil weapon.
"Huh!" Zack answered; "tain't no harm in Side."
"Mahomet, Fudl, take this man to the hospital." But Lyttleton was not satisfied as to Said's intentions with the knife.
It was an ignominious exit for the Dongalawi who had schemed such greatness, legs first, and struggling against six stout men. "No, Colonel,
