THE dancing place, an open space surrounded by palms and date trees, under which were tables and chairs for the guests, was already quite crowded when Carl arrived. As he looked about for a seat, an Arab, apparently acting as an usher to the Europeans, guided him through the crowd to a seat near the arena. What mattered it if the seat were already occupied by another Arab? A few words and the threat of a kick sent him scurrying away, although Carl noted, with a smile, that he waited nearby for the other, apparently in anticipation of part of Carl’s tip.

A native tribe was performing one of their wild desert dances, swinging their guns and great scimitar-like knives in a most fascinating way—howling and shrieking at the top of their lungs and accompanied by the deafening noise of a native band.

The dance over, there was a wild scrambling among the dancers to get the coins that were tossed to them by the spectators. The last coin tossed and picked up; the last dancer aided from the scene by a prod of a booted foot, a man stepped into the circle and in a loud voice proclaimed,

“You are now going to witness the ‘Dance of the Vampire’ by the Europeanized Desert Flower. This young siren has been proclaimed by the art judges of Europe to be one of the most lovely women on earth. Her beauty is beyond words and her dance extraordinary! But judge for yourself! Behold Sana, our Desert Flower. None can rival her. Not even the beauties of the harem!”

Musing to himself, Carl muttered, “If I were not in Africa I should swear I was at Coney Island.”

The eyes of the audience are turned toward a tent near the dancing space. There is a low rumble from the tom-toms of the native orchestra. The flaps of the tent are pushed aside and a young woman steps out. For a moment she stands there, looking over the crowd as if in defiance. Then with a graceful movement of her arms she casts aside the native shawl in which she is wrapped.

The spectators stir in their chairs. From all sides come the “ahs” of expectant watchers. Carl, too, is visibly affected. The “barker” was right. The woman, whoever she was, could take a beauty prize anywhere.

The music grows louder while the dancer with fleet steps, hurries to the middle of the arena to commence her dance.

Carl notes her costume. About her brow is bound a strand of flashing gems. Her body is bare, covered only by a pair of violet colored breast shields, richly embroidered with a bluebird design of beads; short satin tights, slashed at the sides, and also of violet hue. These are augmented by a string of pearls, hanging from her neck holding the breast shield in place. Yet there was nothing indelicate about this scanty costume. Carl recalled that he had seen many in France that were shocking when compared to this. Here was beauty and harmony. It was not the costume but the girl whose beauties it revealed that made it a wonderful picture.

There were dangerous curves ahead, Carl mused, for those of the men in the audience who were so inclined. The women, he felt sure, would appear to be unaware of her beauties, but would, nevertheless, make comparisons in their own minds.

To Carl, however, no sensual thoughts occurred. To him the girl was an object of art. With a connoisseur’s eye for beauty he studied her from head to foot. Her height he judged to be about five feet five inches; her figure that of Venus de Medici. Having a good memory for figures he recalled that the dimensions of that statue were, bust and hips, 36 and 38 inches respectively; waist, 26 inches. The dancer’s back was long and slender, almost flat near the shoulders, but deeply curved at the waist. Her limbs were well rounded, soft and large at the hips, tapering down very gently toward small dimpled knees. From there they gracefully swelled to her calves and in exquisite proportion diminished gently to her finely rounded ankles and slender feet. Her smooth arms were softly molded from shoulder to wrist, with dimpled elbows like a baby’s. The small wrists with long slender hands and fingers were those of an aristocrat. Her entire body, he noted, scarcely revealed the existence of bone—in fact there were no sharp, thin or angular points to be seen. Indeed a veritable Venus!

Her soft skin, of fine texture, was uniformly tanned over her entire body, as if she were wont to take regular sun baths in Eve’s costume. Powder and rouge were conspicuous by their absence, her complexion being naturally healthy and full of bloom. A beautiful symmetrical face, with a delicate lower jaw, a small, distinctly curved, cupid’s bow mouth; a high finely arched brow added to the beauty of her sparkling eyes.

Hers was a gracefully molded head, somewhat high forehead, with a straight, clear cut, slender nose, indicating intelligence. Her dark hair and silk-like skin showed her refinement of birth; her intelligent eyes, gray-blue, were lustrous and brilliant, full of fire, and in size well proportioned to her ruby-lipped mouth. When smiling, slightly pinkish teeth, semi-transparent, looking like two rows of pearls, enchanted the beholder.

Her upward curved oval shaped nostrils, and the small wrists and ankles, together with her entire bearing, betrayed that she was, or at least could be, a woman of extreme passion. She could be a vampire, Carl mused, a real one, if once her nature was aroused.

He could not tell whether desire had as yet been awakened in her. Young and vibrant, she appeared, off hand, as a rare desert flower, grown up undefiled and now blooming in full glory.

Then came reaction. Carl felt himself consumed by an overpowering desire for this girl. To make matters worse, the dancer when passing his table, gave him a glance that caused his bosom to heave and his eyes to shine with that light that clever women kindle in men.

To his mind came memories of the many girls he had met and known. None of them, he realized, would ever mean anything to him now. This desert dancer was his ideal. Yes, Grace, Fannie, Marion and the rest were out of the question now. None of them could compare with this girl, either in physical or spiritual beauty. Dorinda was about the only girl whose figure could match that of this dancer.

But Carl was not alone in his studies of the girl. The others, too, are gazing intently at her. Not a movement of her lithe form escaped their eager eyes. Not a sound came from their lips, even their breathing seemed suppressed. It was as quiet as Mass at church.

Carl could scarcely restrain himself when the dancer came near him, whirling and gyrating her body. And the dance! Carl had never seen anything of its kind before. This was no shimmy of the city dance-hall, no “danse du ventre,” but something wild and free. Wild and free, he reasoned, like the girl herself.

Their eyes met, and in her look Carl thought he read mutual understanding. The girl seemed to lose control of herself. Carl feared what would come next, when suddenly the music stopped its wail. The dancer stopped and bowing to the audience sought to return to her tent amidst the applause of the crowd.

Carl was all fire and flame as he pondered in his mind on how he could best become acquainted with her. One of his first thoughts was, “If she were only on Broadway, instead of here in the wilderness, surrounded by date trees and sand, monkeys and lions.”

He raised his glass to his lips, when he heard a slight uproar in the vicinity of the dancer’s tent. Looking closely he saw that one of the visitors, more intoxicated by the liquor he had consumed than by the beauty of the dancer, was endeavoring to embrace and kiss her.

It was but a matter of a moment for Carl to reach the spot. Angrily he pulled the man aside. This started a fight. The annoyer attempted to pummel Carl, who proceeded to take all the fight out of him with a straight left to the jaw. With a thud the other hit the ground, but quickly recovered himself and sneaked shamefaced and properly chagrined from the place.

The hour was late and most of the people soon left the dancing place. The tourists disappeared, and the place became practically deserted save for a few natives.

The dancer came up close to Carl, and, much to his surprise, thanked him in excellent English. He mumbled something as to its “being all right”; but before he realized what he was saying he had asked whether he could speak to her a while.

After a moment’s hesitation her consent was given. As he sat opposite the girl he studied her face intently. Was he dreaming? Or did he really recall those eyes? A new feeling, far different from that which he experienced when she danced before him, came to Carl, supplanting that less worthy one.

The girl, seeing Carl’s hesitancy to speak, began, “I feel as if I must tell you the whole story—that is, if you care to hear.”

“Please do,” returned Carl. During the dance he knew of many things he would like to say to her, but now—well he thought it best to let her do the talking.

“Well, to get to the point, the man you just drove away has long been an evil influence in my life. His name is de Rochelle. I worked for him as his secretary in Paris and New York. He forced his love upon me, through hypnotic influence. Later, he wanted to get rid of me, so, while he had me under his influence he commanded me to commit suicide by leaping from one of the bridges that span the East River, in New York.”

“Commit suicide?” questioned the astounded Carl. “But why should he command that?”

“I found out, later, that he would have collected some fifty thousand dollars’ insurance and would have returned to France to marry another girl.”

“The beast,” was all Carl could say.

The girl continued, “I would have carried out his orders but for an incident I have never forgotten. As I was about to swing myself over the rail, a gentleman came up to hand me a handkerchief I had dropped in my excitement. He kept talking to me, not realizing, I suppose, my true intentions.”

Carl, his mouth half-opened in astonishment and looking at her as if dazed, reached across the table to clasp her hand, when she said, “I believe it was you who saved my life.”

Silently they gazed at each other, the tears coming to their eyes. The girl had difficulty to keep from crying aloud, while Carl, deeply moved, could find no word to relieve the situation. Words are helpless things at times and at best they fail to convey our true feelings. Volumes were spoken in silence by the look in their eyes and the pressure of Carl’s hand.

The girl’s hands trembled in his clasp, although he felt a slight pressure of them on his own. He drew one hand away to reach for a handkerchief so that she might dry her eyes. For a moment the gaze of the few people still present, caused him embarrassment. What he would have liked to have done was to take her in his arms, to console her and kiss the tears away.

Steeling herself against the emotion which was striving to get the better of her, Sana dried her eyes and attempted to smile. It was like the first sunbeam that shoots from out the rifts of the departing storm clouds. It served to restore the equilibrium which had been so sorely disturbed by the emotional interlude.

It was difficult for them to continue the conversation on this subject, so they had some refreshments, talking the while of everything and nothing. It was the most natural thing for the conversation to drift back to New York, and drift there it did.

They spoke of many things of mutual interest. Carl told her of his work at home, of his books, and why he visited the Sahara. Still puzzled though as to why Sana should be here in the desert, he asked her the reason.

“That, too, is part of my story. But I shall begin at a point before I was born.

“As a youth, Baron von Seckt was the ‘black sheep’ of a family of the German nobility. He was what you Americans call a good sport, squandering his parents’ money and contracting debts. Naturally he was much mixed up in social affairs and was the cause of many a family ‘row.’

“At last his escapades became too much for his father, who decided that the son would have to go either to America or Africa. The young man selected the latter.

“He had money enough to last him perhaps a year. He would enjoy himself while the money lasted—after that he could go to work. With this in mind he joined a hunting party. While in the region of the Niger River, near Ansozo, he became separated from his friends. He wandered around, lost and finally, totally exhausted, lay down to sleep. In his sleep he was attacked by a giant tiger snake. During the struggle which followed he was badly bitten by the snake. He managed, however, to kill it with his knife, and after freeing himself from its coils, fired several shots into its body to make sure it was dead.

“These shots attracted the attention of a hunter who at the time was not far away. He found the stricken man, by then unconscious and took him to his camp, where he was taken care of by the hunter’s wife, a young and full-blooded gypsy.

“Blood poisoning set in and the Baron was confined to his bed for some time. During this time the gypsy nursed and cared for the sick man, probably with more ardor than was necessary. The result was obvious. One day, even before the Baron was quite recovered, the hunter discovered him and the woman in very compromising circumstances. He pulled his revolver to make an end to the unfaithful pair, but he was not quick enough. The Baron rushed at him and in the struggle that followed the hunter accidentally killed himself.

“Shortly afterward the Baron married the gypsy, who as time passed gave birth to me, daughter of the Baron. That was at Temmimun, on the Gurara Oasis, where the couple had settled shortly prior to my birth. I am thus a ‘child of love.’

“My father taught me German, French and English, while my mother taught me to play the violin, at which she was an adept. When I became sixteen my father took me to England to study, and probably to find a life companion. English life and its hypocrisy did not appeal to me, so shortly afterward I went to Paris, making my home with a family I had met in London. Then I learned that my father had suddenly died of heart failure and that I would be forced to make my own way through life.

“My knowledge of languages enabled me to secure work with an engineering concern, contemplating developments in the Sahara desert. This is the organization of which you spoke.

“Among the promoters of this concern was de Rochelle and soon he became one of my most ardent admirers. Although I was by no means in love with him, I often went to dinner or to the theater with him. One evening after dinner, which was served in a private dining-room, he spoke to me of his hypnotic powers. I had once read a book on the subject and was interested. In a joking way he offered to show me how it worked. Before I knew it, or could say a word in objection, I was under his influence. Months afterward I discovered that that night he had commanded me to love him and to marry him.

“From that night on it seemed that I took a great and unaccountable liking for the man. Previously I had merely endured him. Now I loved him and was his willing slave. Before long we were engaged to be married. At times, though, the feeling of repulsion returned, but under his influence this soon gave way, disappearing finally for good.

“De Rochelle’s work was to raise the money for the Sahara Development Organization, and to that end he was sent to New York. He induced me to accompany him as his secretary. What followed is already known to you.”

“What do you think of the scheme of flooding the Sahara?” Carl asked, fearing a further discussion of her troubles might renew her tears.

“I do not like it. I fear it.”

“But why?”

“The plan is to make the desert fertile as it used to be in the days of the Roman Empire. It is a great engineering problem and can be done by building a canal from the sea to allow the waters to flow in. As a large part of the desert lies below sea level, the water would naturally flood a large area. As you know, the sun would evaporate a lot of this water to be returned to earth in the form of rain, which falling on the surrounding desert would soon make it a fertile land.

“But this undertaking, as I understand it, will not only change the climate of the Sahara but will affect that of the entire world. At a meeting of the promoters I heard it said that the result might be disastrous to the rest of the world. But like any nation or group of individuals seeking mere gain for themselves, the rest of the world is not likely to be taken into consideration.

“It would be a good thing for the world at large if the Sahara could be revegetated, but it must not be the cause of suffering. I would give anything a woman can righteously offer to the one who will prevent this destructive flooding. You see, it would destroy my beloved homestead at the Gurara Oasis.”

“It can be done,” remarked Carl, as he drew a pencil and a map from his pocket. He spread the map on the table between them and using his pencil as a pointer explained once more his mission in the desert, assuring her, at the same time, that he would think of a plan by which the catastrophes she feared would be avoided.

Sana was overcome with joy. Rising from her chair, she clasped his hand with both hers, exclaimed, “I have, indeed, found a friend in you.”