the ragged and bewhiskered man of two short days ago.
There is little to be said of the trip itself, nor do I know the route we traveled, other than that the ship passed to the north of Timbuktu. All that long hot day Captain Armand Sabbatier piloted the plane that flew over the dreary world of sand-hills, valleys and mountains that is the great Sahara.
Indeed, it was not till now that I realized the vastness of its little-known interior. Many times we passed a long line of plodding camels and walking figures that I later learned were some of the numerous salt-caravans that have traveled the Sahara for fifty centuries, and twice a faint popping and a riding company of white-robed figures far below us, showed we were the objects of the rifle fire of a band of the dreaded Tuaregs.
At sundown we came to the ground in a deep valley from which many rocky gorges diverged. Here a small douar of a half-score of tents rose up from one of the great passes, beside which numerous giant boulders were strewn along the bed of what, in pre-historic times, had been a mighty river.
It was evident that our coming had been expected. While a score of figures flocked around the plane, a dignified old sheik escorted Sabbatier and me to his quarters, which had once been a gorgeous silk tent.
Our hours of rest in the silken tent were few. Long before dawn Sabbatier was up and active, and just as the sun rose out of the distant sand-hills we resumed that now hated journey. Again we clambered into the plane, and amid the roaring and shouts of our erstwhile hosts, rose once more into the blue.
It was noon when a tiny fort beside a cluster of palm trees showed in the sands that surrounded it on all sides like a great ocean; a small gray square with thick walls, flat roof and flanking towers. Toward this our ship was gradually dropping when I suddenly became aware of a thin line of white and blue figures that surrounded the garrison, crouched behind the numerous sand-hills a half-mile or so from the fort itself.
Only an occasional shot would crack out from the besiegers, as though the latter were content with an irregular but deadly fire, on the structure before them. At the sight of the oncoming plane a loud volley rose from the surrounding sand-hills, and several bullets hissed murderously past our heads.
But no matter how numerous were the faults of Captain Sabbatier, cowardice was certainly not among them. In an instant he had shown his mettle and was sending the plane at breakneck speed for the opening fort gate; nor was it many seconds till he had landed before it, and we were springing from the ship and making for that little haven.
But now loud shouts were rising from the fort before us, and swarthy, cheering figures appeared at the embrasures. Then as we drew nearer a tall, shapely figure, clad in riding-breeches and an open-necked white shirt, appeared in the opening. A heavy automatic was strapped around the waist of the beauteous woman who was smiling her welcome. Only once before had I seen that dark-eyed charmer, but recognition was instantaneous—The Midnight Lady.
"Hurry!" came the silvery command as her arm gave an imperious gesture. "Hurry lest the bullet of some sniper cuts short this meeting."
Indeed there was good cause for haste. Already the bullets of the be-
