Hi Jolly! Part 13

For various reasons, some of those journeys had been very exciting. But this promised far more than any other trail Ali had traveled.

Wild and dangerous though they had been, and some still were, the camel trails of Ali's native country were almost as ancient as the land itself.

Caravans had certainly been traversing them since recorded history, and fable told of camels on the march long before any recording. Thus there had never been even a faint possibility of doing anything that had not already been done over and over, or of going anywhere not already visited by mult.i.tudes.

This route must forever stand apart. Even though people had come this way, with very few exceptions, they were wild as the wild beasts that slunk from their path. Certainly there had never been a caravan, and for that reason alone there must be the challenge of the mysterious and unknown. In addition, Ali found something else he'd never known before.

Here were no petty Amirs, with an endless array of petty decrees.

Confining Camp Verde was far behind; there wasn't even a camel khan.

s.p.a.ce was limitless, and freedom was restricted only by a need for caution. Obviously, when at last one had all the room he needed for growing and roaming, he would not do a great deal of either if he fell prey to either the savages or the elements.

Ali knew that even this parched and barren country was not repulsive to his eyes. He must consider it forbidding, or at least undesirable, because of its current threat to the expedition.

Fighting a sudden powerful notion that he had missed something and had better turn around again, Ali looked steadfastly ahead. He hadn't missed anything and knew it, but he would anxiously grasp any straw as he neared the place where he must turn about and hope faded.

Largely because, in Ali's eyes, Lieutenant Beale's stature had long since exceeded that of any other man and was rapidly nearing heroic proportions, Ali could not blame his leader for the present dilemma. The signs had been present; any man who had good camels should think seriously as to the wisdom of bringing horses and mules too into a land where water was uncertain.

Ali was unable to blame his leader for anything, and, anyhow, the guide was directly at fault. After leading the entire expedition astray--as yet n.o.body knew how far--the guide offered only a sheepish grin as an excuse when he finally admitted choosing the wrong landmarks. He'd risked everyone's life but he'd never know, Ali thought, how close he'd come to paying for his carelessness with his own life. Ali had been watching Lieutenant Beale's eyes when the guide confessed his error. The guide had been looking at the ground.

Except for the strict rations allotted each man, they had run out of water shortly afterwards. The camels were in no trouble, but the horses and mules were already frantic with thirst. Had Ali been in command, he would have shot the horses and mules and gone on with camels only. But Ali was not in command, and because Lieutenant Beale wished to find water for his suffering beasts, Ali could not wish otherwise. Even though they still had rations, some of the expedition's men were already apprehensive.

The sun was almost at that point where Ali must turn Ben Akbar and go back. His heart grew heavier as it became increasingly evident that he would have no news of water. Such failure was all the more galling because he never doubted but that he'd been close to success.

There was no use in comparing this with his own country, since this specific problem could never arise there. All the water holes were known. A thirsty traveler who found one dry, simply went on toward the next one. If he got there, he drank. If he did not, he died. However, it was reasonable to suppose that some fundamental rules applied in America, even as they did throughout the rest of the world.

Where there was water, there should be green foliage. Of course, he must not expect to find familiar date palms. There must be some other trees indigenous to this parched area, and any that received water would be green, and any color at all in such drab surroundings would glow like a candle at midnight.

Reaching the place where he had been ordered to turn around, a reluctant Ali halted Ben Akbar. For a moment he sat the saddle, searching everything still ahead and hoping desperately to see a splash of green that must mark an oasis. He saw only more desert. The last feeble spark of hope almost flickered out.

Then, suddenly, it flared. Though Lieutenant Beale had told him when he must return, he had not said that Ali must come back by the same route.

Some distance to the south was a series of rocky ridges from whose crests it would surely be possible to see much new country. Ali swung south.

With a much clearer understanding of the expedition's true purpose, Ali lauded the wisdom that had prompted it. If some of this Southwest was bleak and forbidding, some was as fine and rich as anything Ali had ever seen. Villages and even cities might thrive here and there would still be ample grazing for flocks and herds.

Almost without exception, however, the few white men who had dared enter the region cared for nothing except high adventure and possible riches, with high adventure accorded a definite priority. Far from taming the wilderness, they much preferred it untamed. Their opposites, who would bring settlement and civilization, must first be provided with some means of access. Though the wild men could live by their rifles and from their saddlebags, families could not.

Following the 35th parallel, except wherever circ.u.mstance, such as terrain unsuited for wagons, made it wise to deviate from that line, the expedition was to lay out a wagon road between Fort Defiance and the California border. Besides opening new country, the road would close the final gap in a transcontinental highway.

Ali, who knew something about roads, had only unstinted admiration for the course so far. That camels could travel it was not open to question, for camels were breaking the trail. Lieutenant Beale, however, was choosing the route so carefully and with such skill that the heaviest and clumsiest wagons could hereafter follow where the camels led.

It was an admirable road, and the fact that the entire expedition was lost at the moment would be of no consequence if it were not for lack of water. Even that would be no more than a minor annoyance, except that horses and mules must drink or find it impossible to go on.

Ali's hopes, that had burned brightly when he turned south to swing along these ridges, flickered dimly as time pa.s.sed and no oasis was sighted. The appointed rendezvous for this evening's camp--at least it would be a rendezvous if the struggling mule teams were able to come so far--was only a few miles ahead and night would fall soon. Ali put Ben Akbar to a fast lope.

Suddenly he wheeled and rode back. He'd seen something--or thought he had--for it was so faintly traced that he could not be sure. It was worth a second look. Returning to the place where something had caught his eye, Ali halted Ben Akbar, dismounted and knelt to study the ground.

He had seen something, but it was not to be wondered that he had almost pa.s.sed without seeing it. A small, unshod horse, traveling at a fast trot, had pa.s.sed this way within the hour and gone directly southeast.

Ali frowned thoughtfully.

Every one of the expedition's horses was shod and none had so small a hoof. This animal was either separated from its companions and trying to find them, or it carried a rider. Wandering horses do not travel fast and straight.

Ali rose and remounted Ben Akbar. Since the horse did not belong to the expedition, obviously it was the property of someone else. The only human inhabitants of this forsaken waste were Indians. Though he had seen nothing except the track of one horse, Ali knew the Druse and the brigands of the caravan routes too well, and had fought them too often, to shrug it off as meaningless. One Druse going somewhere in a hurry could either be running from enemies or going to join some companions bent on raiding.

Since there was no indication of pursuit, obviously the Indian was not fleeing. But in Ali's opinion and experience, there was every reason to believe that any group of brigands anywhere would sack the expedition if they could.

So a group of bandits were a.s.sembling for the purpose of attacking the expedition. Or, Ali admitted, they were not a.s.sembling. He was certain only that there was at least one horse in the area and equally certain that there was water not too far away. The whole thing should properly be reported to Lieutenant Beale, but Ali remained indecisive.

If Beale knew what Ali knew, he would most certainly insist on a personal investigation at the earliest moment. Never doubting that his chief was a renowned and experienced warrior, Beale was also one to rush in where anything else feared to tread. Should one with so many distressing problems already on his mind be further burdened? Finally, and conclusively, the expedition might do very well without Ali. It couldn't possibly succeed without Lieutenant Beale. Therefore, who should logically run the risk?

There was only one choice.

Ben Akbar trotted into camp where the remaining camels were contentedly feeding on greasewood. Sied was among them. Lieutenant Beale, who had also scouted for water, must have returned. He proved to be one of the little group who stood watching the agonized approach of the mules.

n.o.body had found water; if they had, they would not appear so downcast.

Dismounting, Ali removed Ben Akbar's trappings and the big _dalul_ joined the feeding herd. Ali turned toward the oncoming wagons.

Heads bent, tongues lolling, the mules swayed in their traces and moved at a slow crawl. When the wagons finally drew up, the mules remained as they were when halted and did not so much as glance to one side or the other, even when stripped of their harnesses.

His mules unharnessed, but so nearly finished that they retained their team positions, the first driver went to his wagon and lifted down the water keg. He turned to Lieutenant Beale and spoke in a husky whisper, "Nary a drop left. Must of sprung a leak and--"

The mules came alert with a frantic rush and were upon him in a wild scramble. Surrounding the driver, their eager grunts and harsh gasping seemed the voice of madness itself as they fought each other for the privilege of licking the dry keg's bung hole. Unable to look, the soldiers turned away. Lieutenant Beale remained the leader.

"We can't move from here without water," he said quietly. "We'll try again tomorrow."

Ali offered, "I'll go again at dawn."

Beale continued to speak softly. "Any preferred direction?"

Ali gestured toward the horse track and Lieutenant Beale nodded permission. "Be back by sundown."

It was so early that the dim gray light still made for uncertain observation when Ali halted Ben Akbar and dismounted. He bent very near the earth, unable to see until he did so. The track was here, he had not erred. Leading Ben Akbar, he followed, slowly at first, then faster as the strengthening light permitted. From the crest of one hill, he looked over the top of another and finally saw what he so desperately wanted to see.

It was the topmost branches of a full-leafed tree, and here, in this place of no color, it was startling as snow on a naked cliff.

Ali turned his mount and said softly, "Kneel."

The big _dalul_ knelt. Ali crawled forward. On the summit of the hill over which the tree top appeared, he crouched in a nest of boulders and verified his preconceived opinion that he would see more than water when he finally beheld the oasis.

Water there was, a limpid pool, shaded by one great tree and a cl.u.s.ter of small ones, and seeping underground to bring life to a patch of gra.s.s. Sixty-one horses cropped the gra.s.s, and sixty-one Indians lazed about.

Though he knew where he was and who these men were, Ali felt as he had when spying on the Druse tribesmen. Even external differences between burnous-clad Druse and half-naked Indians did not set them so very far apart. If the Indians were not bent on raiding, there would be women and children among them. The expedition was the only prize worth the a.s.sembly of so many warriors. At present, they were idling away their time until a scout reported.

The scout appeared, as Ali was sure he would, from the direction in which the expedition was encamped. Ali waited for the scout to reach his companions. When he did and began his report, Ali returned to Ben Akbar.

He rode first toward the camp, so that he was between the warriors and the expedition. Then he put Ben Akbar up a hill, but not quite over it.

He wanted only to look down on the path taken by the scout and which, by all reason, should be the path of the warriors.

Presently they appeared, as Ali had prayed they would, and, obviously, the scout had reported well. In no hurry at all, it was clear that the Indians knew of the distress in camp. The time to take it was now, with most of the animals unfit, all of the men uncertain, and some so near the breaking point that a little more stress would break them. When the Indians were directly beneath him, Ali spoke to his mount. "Ho! Now!"

Ben Akbar shot over the crest and unhesitatingly did as Ali wished, he charged the mounted column. The leader, a fiercely painted young warrior whose thoughts were pleasantly filled with an easy conquest and ample loot, had time for only one good look before his horse took charge.