From The Best Stories of Wilbur Daniel Steele 1946 Jlhe day had been dead hot. Under the weight of the afternoon one would have thought it could never be cool again in the Mzab. But immediately the sun had dipped behind the cliff that guards the western rim of the oasis the thin air emptied itself, and the night chill, penetrating and treach- erous, flowed over the dry bottom of the oued. "What's wrong with the Ouled Nail girls tonight?" I asked along the gallery. Abd, son of Abdallah the Mozabite, rose to his feet on the tiles near the stair, a white wraith. "Not — " '"Who then is Maas Djo?'