Page:Alien Souls by Achmed Abdullah (1922).djvu/115

German and misquote Nietzsche and drink beer in the Berlin academy of war. Too, he had learned, nor badly, certain rudiments of strategy and tactics. But he had paid a bitter price for his lessons. For he had forgotten the simple, native decencies of his native land, the one eternal wisdom of the Koran which says that all Moslems are brothers, equal.

He dropped his eyeglass, twirled his mustache, and turned on Mehmet et-Touati with a snarl.

"Shut up, son of a dog with a dog's heart," he cried. "Get back—or—"

He lifted his riding crop significantly, and Mehmet el-Touati salaamed and walked away. He shrugged his shoulders. A beating from a master and a step in the mud, he said to himself, were not things one should consider in times of stress. Nor did he mind the killing, the dying, the wounds, the bleeding toes, the wretched food.

But what of Islam? What of the Russian? What of—treason?

Still, the priests had told them that Islam was in danger, that they must fight. And they did. Though not as well as before.

For doubt had entered their hearts.

Came another defeat; another retreat; another disgrace hushed up, followed by hectic clamorings from Stamboul, the seat of the Caliph, the Commander of the Faithful, and thunderous, choleric, dragooning orders zumming South from Berlin along the telegraph wires.

Then, one day, a red-faced, blue-eyed, white-mustached, spectacled giant, eagle-topped silver helmet on bullet head, stout chest ablaze with medals and ribbons, rode into headquarters camp and addressed the soldiers,