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By Root 1359 0

tracing abstract designs in the sand with a stick, looked up. “He may have given us up by now. It took Merasen—” He stopped, with a snap of teeth, at a warning gesture from Emerson. Newbold was not a part of the group—he never was, since we had made it plain his company was not wanted—but he was sitting a little distance away, listening. We had told him nothing about our final destination or the circumstances that had prompted our journey, only that we proposed to leave him in safety and relative comfort within a few days. He had not given up trying to learn more, however. After his attempts to ingratiate himself with Selim and Daoud had failed miserably, he took to chatting with the drivers. This too was a failure; they knew even less than he did, and his attempts at bonhomie were not convincing, since he considered “natives” beneath him.

The terrain began to change, becoming rougher and more broken. Walking was difficult, and the men complained of sore feet. Their heel-less slippers were not suitable for country like this. Even the hardy Bedouin were showing signs of uneasiness. One morning, while the men were unloading the camels, Zerwali the Bedouin approached Emerson. After the formal greetings, he asked how much farther Emerson meant to go.

“I hired you for thirty marhalas,” Emerson reminded him. “We have only been seven days on the march.”

“But you did not tell us where we were going. This is new country to me. We do not come this way.”

“We have only encountered one group of raiders,” Emerson pointed out. “And as you saw, they surrendered as soon as they recognized me.”

“It is not ordinary raiders that keep us from this path.” He hesitated, reluctant to admit fear, and then went on, “Years ago, some of the young men among our people heard of a rich oasis to the west and set out to find it. They did not come back. Others went forth. None came back. And there are legends…”

“Ah yes, the customary legends,” said Emerson to me. “Told by those who never saw the fearsome sights they describe.” He went on in Arabic, “What sort of legends, Zerwali?”

“Of burning mountains and fiery rain, O Father of Curses. Of men—if they are men and not afrits—eight feet tall whose arrows never miss their mark and who can outrun the fastest stallion.”

“Hmmm,” said Emerson, stroking his by-now horrible beard. “Well, Zerwali, you have my word—the word of the Father of Curses—that we will meet no such dangers as you have described. Don’t tell me you are afraid—you, who jeered at the Nubians for cowardice?”

Zerwali gave him an evil look but left without further comment.

We had been amazingly lucky, in fact. We had not lost a man or a camel, and despite the slight accident to the fatasse our water supply was holding up, even if it did taste vile.

Late on the following day we passed a grotesque jumble of dried skin and white bones. “Could that have been our last camel?” I asked Emerson, who was walking with me. “I have been keeping track of the time, and it seems to me that we have just about reached the point where it collapsed.”

“It’s possible,” Emerson said indifferently. “Not that…Here, Peabody, where the devil are you going?”

He followed me, of course. I stood by the miserable heap, remembering that terrible day, when the demise of our last camel had left us stranded miles from water, with little hope of reaching it before dehydration and exhaustion overcame us. Yet my strongest memories were of courage and loyalty—Tarek, who had never deserted us and who was to save us in the end; Ramses, only ten years of age, plodding doggedly through the sand without a whimper of complaint; Emerson, the bravest of men…

“Are you going to say a prayer over it?” inquired the bravest of men disagreeably.

I forgave him his little joke. If it was a joke.

“I only wondered if the things we had to leave behind were still here.”

“Hmmm,” said Emerson, his interest revived by the prospect of digging.

We found nothing, though we excavated all round the cadaver. “No great loss,” said Emerson. “Changes of clothing and a few books—that was about all