Part 13 (1/2)

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.