The evening arrives, and then it is night. A cool wind is blowing over the desert, and there is a strange haziness around the pale moon. D’Arlan is standing far away on a plateau, looking at the moon, and whispers to himself. “I do not like this phenomenon. It spells trouble.”
Some Arabs also look up at the moon and feel the same as D’Arlan. They do not like it at all.
Through the darkness of this ominous night, a rider is racing like a maniac. He is on a strong horse and has two big bags of water hanging from the saddle. The water sloshes in the bags, and the animal moans over this sandy world, but the rider spurs it on regularly to move faster. Finally, at midnight, the riders spot small fires in the desert. He races into the big Dulac camp, and without stopping, he gallops towards the
