Part 14 (2/2)
”Ai,” breathed one of the older men. ”As were the Tuareg before the coming of the cursed Franzawi and the other Nazrani.”
”But in time,” Crawford pursued, ”came the new ways to the plains, and these men who lived largely by the chase began to see the lands fenced in for farmers, began to see large cities erected on what were once tribal areas, and to see the iron railroads of the new ways begin to spread out over the whole of the territory which once was roamed only by the Cheyennes and such nomadic tribes.”
”Ai,” a m.u.f.fled mouth ejected.
Homer Crawford looked at the younger Targui, Guemama, the Amenokal's nephew. ”And so,” he said, ”they fought.”
”Wallahi!” Guemama breathed.
Homer Crawford looked about the circle. ”Never has tribe fought as did the Cheyenne. Never has the world seen such warriors, with the exception, of course, of the Ahaggar Tuareg. Never were such raids, never such bravery, never such heroic deeds as were performed by the warriors of the Cheyennes and their women, and their old people and their children. Over and over they defeated the cavalry and the infantry of the newcomers who would change the old ways and bring the new to the lands of the Cheyennes.”
The bedouin were staring in fascination, their water pipes forgotten.
”And then...?” the Amenokal demanded.
”The new ways taught the enemy how to make guns, and artillery, and finally Gatling guns, which today we call machine guns. And once a brave warrior might prevail against a common man armed with the weapons of the new ways, and even twice he might. But the numbers of the followers of the new ways are as the sands of the Great Erg and in time bravery means nothing.”
”It is even so,” someone growled. ”They are as the sands of the erg, and they have the weapons of the djinn, as each man knows.”
”And what happened in the end, O El Ha.s.san?”
His eyes swept them all. ”They perished,” Homer said. ”Today in all the land where once the Cheyenne pursued the game there is but a handful of the tribe alive. And they have become nothing people, no longer warriors, no longer nomads, and they are scorned by all for they are poor, poor, poor. Poor in mind and spirits, and in property and they have not been able to adjust to the ways of the new world.”
Air went out of the lungs of the a.s.sembled Tuareg.
The Amenokal looked at him. ”This is verily the truth, El Ha.s.san?”
”My head upon it,” Crawford said.
”And why do you tell us of these Cheyenne, these great warriors of the plains of the land of your birth? The story fails to bring joy to hearts already heavy with the troubles of the Tuareg.”
It was time to play the joker.
Crawford said carefully, ”Because there was no need, O Amenokal of all the Ahaggar, for the Cheyenne to disappear before the sandstorm of the future. They could have ridden before it and today occupy a position of honor and affluence in their former land.”
They stared at him.
”And give up the old ways?” Guemama demanded. ”Become no longer nomads, no longer honorable warriors, but serfs, slaves, working with one's hands upon the land and with the oil-dirty machines of the Roumi?”
The chiefs muttered angrily.
Crawford said hurriedly, ”No! Never! In our great conferences, my viziers and I decided that the Tuareg could never so change. The Tuareg must die, as did the Northern Cheyenne before he would become a city dweller, a worker of the land.”
”Bismillah!” someone muttered.
”Too often,” Crawford explained, ”do the bringers of these things of the future, be they Roumi or others, fail to utilize the potential services of the people of the lands they over-sweep.”
”I do not understand you, El Ha.s.san,” Melchizedek grumbled. ”There is no room for the Tuareg in this new world of bringing trees to the desert, of the great trucks which speed across the erg a score of time the pace of a _hejin_ racing camel, of larger and ever larger oases with their great towns, their schools, their new industries. If the Tuareg remains Tuareg, he cannot fit into this new world, it destroys the old traditions, the old way which is the Tuareg way.”
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