Part 140 (1/2)

”Unless thou knowest let another man ride. Dost thou know? Remember it will be life or death to thee.”

”I know,” said the driver, sullenly. ”Stand back from my beast. I am going to slip him.”

”Not so swiftly. George, hold the camel's head a moment. I want to feel his cheek.” The hands wandered over the hide till they found the branded half-circle that is the mark of the Biharin, the light-built riding-camel.

”That is well. Cut this one loose. Remember no blessing of G.o.d comes on those who try to cheat the blind.”

The men chuckled by the fires at the camel-driver's discomfiture. He had intended to subst.i.tute a slow, saddle-galled baggage-colt.

”Stand back!” one shouted, las.h.i.+ng the Biharin under the belly with a quirt. d.i.c.k obeyed as soon as he felt the nose-string tighten in his hand,--and a cry went up, ”Illaha! Aho! He is loose.”

With a roar and a grunt the Biharin rose to his feet and plunged forward toward the desert, his driver following with shouts and lamentation.

George caught d.i.c.k's arm and hurried him stumbling and tripping past a disgusted sentry who was used to stampeding camels.

”What's the row now?” he cried.

”Every st.i.tch of my kit on that blasted dromedary,” d.i.c.k answered, after the manner of a common soldier.

”Go on, and take care your throat's not cut outside--you and your dromedary's.”

The outcries ceased when the camel had disappeared behind a hillock, and his driver had called him back and made him kneel down.

”Mount first,” said d.i.c.k. Then climbing into the second seat and gently s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the pistol muzzle into the small of his companion's back, ”Go on in G.o.d's name, and swiftly. Goodbye, George. Remember me to Madame, and have a good time with your girl. Get forward, child of the Pit!”

A few minutes later he was shut up in a great silence, hardly broken by the creaking of the saddle and the soft pad of the tireless feet. d.i.c.k adjusted himself comfortably to the rock and pitch of the pace, girthed his belt tighter, and felt the darkness slide past. For an hour he was conscious only of the sense of rapid progress.

”A good camel,” he said at last.

”He was never underfed. He is my own and clean bred,” the driver replied.

”Go on.”

His head dropped on his chest and he tried to think, but the tenor of his thoughts was broken because he was very sleepy. In the half doze in seemed that he was learning a punishment hymn at Mrs. Jennett's. He had committed some crime as bad as Sabbath-breaking, and she had locked him up in his bedroom. But he could never repeat more than the first two lines of the hymn--

When Israel of the Lord believed Out of the land of bondage came.

He said them over and over thousands of times. The driver turned in the saddle to see if there were any chance of capturing the revolver and ending the ride. d.i.c.k roused, struck him over the head with the b.u.t.t, and stormed himself wide awake. Somebody hidden in a clump of camel-thorn shouted as the camel toiled up rising ground. A shot was fired, and the silence shut down again, bringing the desire to sleep.

d.i.c.k could think no longer. He was too tired and stiff and cramped to do more than nod uneasily from time to time, waking with a start and punching the driver with the pistol.

”Is there a moon?” he asked drowsily.

”She is near her setting.”

”I wish that I could see her. Halt the camel. At least let me hear the desert talk.”

The man obeyed. Out of the utter stillness came one breath of wind.

It rattled the dead leaves of a shrub some distance away and ceased. A handful of dry earth detached itself from the edge of a rail trench and crumbled softly to the bottom.

”Go on. The night is very cold.”