About a mile and a half behind Teuns and his men, the riders have stopped on a high dune. Teuns count quickly and can make out at least forty of them. They are dressed in the uniforms of the French Foreign Legion. That is quite apparent in the early morning light of the Sahara. It is Heinz Dietrich’s men. But what are they doing in this part of the desert? Teuns had assumed that Dietrich, with his slave caravan, would have made themselves scarce in this part of the world because if the Arabs got hold of them, there would be retribution. He perishes the thought and continues on his horse, gliding over a giant dune and descending into a deep valley between two other high dunes.
Teuns does not know if the other men in his company also saw the riders, so he turns to Fritz Mundt and says. “We
