LITMIR.BIZ

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      The small Bahamian snorted. "You chaps certainly started something with this El Hassan farce. What are your immediate plans? How can I co-operate with you?"

      A teenage boy who had been heckling Isobel, stooped now to pick up some dried cow dung. Almost absently, Crawford put his staff between the other's legs and tripped him up, when the lad sprawled on his face the American rapped him smartly on the head.

      Crawford said, "Thanks a lot, we can use you, especially since you speak Dogon, I don't think any of my group does. We're going to hold a big meeting in front of the square and give them a long monotonous talk, saying little but sounding as though we're promising a great deal. When we've taken most of the steam out of them, we'll locate the ringleaders and have a big indoor meeting. My boys will be spotted throughout the gang. They'll nominate me to be spokesman, and nominate each other to be my committee and we'll be sent to find El Hassan and urge him to take power. That should keep them quiet for a while. At least long enough for headquarters in Dakar to decide what to do."

      "Good Heavens," Donaldson said in admiration. "You Yanks are certainly good at this sort of thing."

      "Takes practice," Homer Crawford said. "If you want to help, ferret out the groups who speak Dogon and give them the word."

      Out of a sidestreet came running Abe Baker at the head of possibly two or three hundred arm waving, shouting, stick brandishing Africans. A few of them had banners which were being waved in such confusion that nobody could read the words inscribed. Most of them seemed to be younger men, even teen-agers.

      "Good Heavens," Donaldson said again.

      At first snap opinion, Crawford thought his assistant was being pursued and started forward to the hopeless rescue, but then he realized that Abe was heading the mob. Waving his staff, the New Yorker was shouting slogans, most of which had something to do with "El Hassan" but otherwise were difficult to make out.

      The small mob charged out of the street and through the square, still shouting. Abe began to drop back into the ranks, and then to the edge of the charging, gesticulating crowd. Already, though, some of them seemed to be slowing up, even stopping and drifting away, puzzlement or frustration on their faces.

      Those who were still at excitement's peak, charged up another street at the other side of the square.

      In a few moments, Abe Baker came up to them, breathing hard and wiping sweat from his forehead. He grinned wryly. "Man, those cats are way out. This is really Endsville." He looked up at where Isobel was haranguing her own crowd, which hadn't been fazed by the men who'd charged through the square going nowhere. "Look at old Isobel up there. Man, this whole town's like a combination of Hyde Park and Union Square. You oughta hear old Jake making with a speech."

      "What just happened?" Homer asked, motioning with his head to where the last elements of the mob Abe'd been leading were disappearing down a dead-end street.

      "Ah, nothing," Abe said, still watching Isobel and grinning at her. "Those cats were the nucleus of a bunch wanted to start some action. Burn a few cars, raid the library, that sort of jazz. So I took over for a while, led them up one street and down the other. I feel like I just been star at a track meet."

      "Good Heavens," Donaldson said still again.

      "They're all scattered around now," Abe explained to him. "Either that or their tongues are hanging out to the point they'll have to take five to have a beer. They're finished for a while."

      Isobel finished her little talk and joined them. "What gives now?" she asked.

      Rex Donaldson said, "I'd like to stay around and watch you chaps operate. It's fascinating. However, I'd better get over to the park. That's probably where the greater number of the Dogon will be." He grumbled sourly, "I'll roast those blokes with a half dozen bits of magic and send them all back to Sangha. It'll be donkey's years before they ever show face around here again." He left them.

      Homer Crawford looked after him. "Good man," he said.

      Abe had about caught his breath. "What gives now, man?" he said. "I ought to get back to Jake. He's all alone up near the mosque."

      "It's about time all of us got over there," Crawford said. He looked at Isobel as they walked. "How does it feel being a sort of reverse agent provocateur?"

      Her forehead was wrinkled, characteristically. "I suppose it has to be done, but frankly, I'm not too sure just what we are doing. Here we go about pushing these supposed teachings of El Hassan and when we're taken up by the people and they actually attempt to accomplish what we taught them, we draw in on the reins."

      "Man, you're right," Abe said unhappily. He looked at his chief. "What'd you say, Homer?"

      "Of course she's right," Crawford growled. "It's just premature, is all. There's no program, no plan of action. If there was one, this thing here in Mopti might be the spark that united all North Africa. As it is, we have to put the damper on it until there is a definite program." He added sourly, "I'm just wondering if the Reunited Nations is the organization that can come up with one. And, if it isn't, where is there one?"

      The mosque loomed up before them. The square before it was jam packed with milling Africans.

      "Great guns," Isobel snorted, "there're more people here than the whole population of Mopti. Where'd they all come from?"

      "They've been filtering in from the country," Crawford said.

      "Well, we'll filter 'em back," Abe promised.

       * * * * *

      They spotted a ruckus and could see Elmer Allen in the middle of it, his quarterstaff flailing.

      "On the double," Homer bit out, and he and Abe broke into a trot for the point of conflict. The idea was to get this sort of thing over as quickly as possible before it had a chance to spread.

      They arrived too late. Elmer was leaning on his staff, as though needing it for support, and explaining mildly to two men who evidently were friends of a third who was stretched out on the ground, dead to the world and with a nasty lump on his shaven head.

      Homer came up and said to Elmer, in Songhai, "What has transpired, O Holy One?" He made a sign of obeisance to the Jamaican.

      The two Africans were taken aback by the term of address. They were unprepared to continue further debate, not to speak of physical action, against a holy man.

      Elmer said with dignity, "He spoke against El Hassan, our great leader."

      For a moment the two Africans seemed to be willing to deny that, but Abe Baker took up the cue and turned to the crowd that was beginning to gather. He held his hands out, palms upward questioningly, "And why should these young men beset a Holy One whose only crime is to love El Hassan?"

      The crowd began to murmur and the two hurriedly picked up their fallen companion and took off with him.

      Homer said in English, "What really happened?"

      "Oh, this chap was one of the hot heads," Elmer explained. "Wanted some immediate action. I gave it to him."

      Abe chuckled, "Holy One, yet."

      Spotted through the square, holding forth to various gatherings of the mob were Jake Armstrong, Kenny Ballalou and Cliff Jackson. Even as Homer Crawford sized up the situation and the temper of the throngs of tribesmen, Bey entered the square from the far side at the head of two or three thousand more, most of whom were already beginning to look bored to death from talk, talk, talk.

      Isobel came up and looked questioningly at Homer Crawford.

      He said, "Abe, get the truck and drive it up before the entrance to the mosque. We'll speak from that. Isobel can open the hoe down, get the crowd over and then introduce me."

      Abe left and Crawford said to Isobel, "Introduce me as Omar ben Crawf, the great friend and assistant of El Hassan. Build it up."

      "Right," she said.

      Crawford said, "Elmer first round up the boys and get them spotted through the audience. You're

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