Captured by the Arabs

“It’s a good thing the dromedaries don’t need it often,” said Mr. Lewis, as he went about preparing the meal.

“Four or five days is often enough for them,” put in Mr. Holton. “They can go much longer than that, but it isn’t wise to risk it.”

It was about eleven o’clock, the time advisable to begin the usual afternoon rest. Bob and Joe were glad of the chance to escape the heat of the fierce sun. Even in the morning it was too hot for comfort, although nothing compared to the baking atmosphere of the afternoon. The youths were tanned so dark as to resemble Arabs.

“Funny,” smiled Joe. “Back in the United States we fellows wanted to get burned by the sun. Here we try to keep out from under it.”

“All goes to prove that circumstances alter cases,” laughed Dr. Kirshner.

The tent was again pitched, and the meal eaten. This time, however, water was used sparingly. The adventurers did not wish to run the risk of getting dangerously short.

It was thought best to set a guard again while the others slept or idly rested on the cool sand. Mr. Holton took the job, sitting in the shade of the tent facing the resting dromedaries.

“Chances are nothing will turn up, though,” he said, and proved to be right.

Sharply at three o’clock Dr. Kirshner was up stretching himself and suggesting that they continue the journey.

“It isn’t the thing to wait too long,” he reminded his friends, “even if we are drowsy. By night we want to have covered another hundred miles or more. I’m especially anxious to reach the mountainous region and see what I can find in the way of records of ancient peoples who might have lived there before the desert became a desert,” he added, laughing.

The others were more than willing to start on. When sleepiness or drowsiness threatened to overpower them at the wrong time, the thought of the two thieves who had stolen Fekmah’s map spurred them on to action.

“I don’t know that it is necessary to set a guard while we take our afternoon rests,” remarked Fekmah casually, as they packed the tent back in its place for the journey.

The Americans looked at him wonderingly.

“The dromedaries will give us warning,” he explained. “They are much uneasy if stranger come near camp. They jump up and make noise.”

“A bit like watchdogs, are they?” said Mr. Holton. “Well, we’ll give them a tryout the next time.”

They again took up the journey, winding in and out among the rolling sand hills. Occasionally they would come to a dune several hundred feet high. They seemed to be gradually mounting higher, for the camels did not move as rapidly as before.

Vegetation increased still more, giving the dromedaries an opportunity to nibble often on the various plants and shrubs. A few scattered trees began to be seen, their sharp thorns protruding threateningly.

“Camels don’t bother with thorns,” remarked Bob. “They know just where to take a mouthful without cutting their mouths.”

“And they aren’t particular about their diet, either,” Joe added, remembering what Fekmah had told him some time before. “Leather, paper, wood – almost anything will satisfy their appetites.”

At last they came to the region of high sand dunes that were visible the day before. Many of the hills towered five and six hundred feet, and a few were much higher than that. The explorers were lucky in finding a narrow lane that passed between the mounds. How long the good fortune would continue, they did not know.

“Getting to look more like the dunes in Indiana, back in the United States,” remarked Joe. “But of course these stretch a hundred times as far.”

In some places the ground was hard and brittle, while in others it was strewn with loose sand.

At last the lane stopped, and the adventurers found themselves face to face with a high hill.

“Guess we’ll have to climb it,” said Mr. Holton, looking about. “There is no other way out. The sand seems to be hard and safe enough. And it could be a great deal steeper.”

“Let dromedaries go slowly,” cautioned Fekmah. “Do not hurry them.”

They began the dangerous ascent, keeping their eyes glued to the ground. Slowly the camels trudged up, feeling their steps carefully.

They were almost to the top when suddenly the ground gave way from under Joe’s dromedary. The animal fell to its knees, struggled for a moment, and fell backward.

With a wild shout Joe plunged from the animal’s back and went rolling helplessly down the hill!

CHAPTER XIV

Falling Helplessly

DOWN the steep slope Joe went, powerless to catch himself. There were no shrubs or stalks to grip, no hard soil to cling to.

His mind was in a whirl. Where would he land? How far had he yet to go? He comforted himself in the thought that there were no rocks or tree trunks to dash against, but if the soil at the bottom of the hill happened to be hard, his doom might be sealed. Already he could feel the jar and pain of suddenly coming to an abrupt stop on unyielding ground.

Down, down he went, past the pack camels that were still slowly climbing the steep side of the mound, lucky enough to have been missed by the falling camel.

Joe caught a momentary glimpse of his own dromedary, which was also rolling rapidly down.

Suddenly he felt a severe jar and gradually came to a stop in the soft sand at the foot of the dune.

A moment later he glanced up fearfully, as he saw his dromedary coming down at him with lightning rapidity.

He tried to rise and dash to one side, but his feet failed to respond to his efforts. They had been numbed by the jar of striking the ground.

The falling camel was almost upon him now. Something must be done at once!

Summoning all his strength, he threw his body to the right of the oncoming animal. It was an act of desperation, and he felt sure that it would fail. But a moment later there was a rush, the sound of swishing sand, and the animal whisked past, stirring up a dense cloud of fine soil.

Joe gave a sigh of relief and for a brief period sank back down on the sand, as though waiting for his strength to be restored. Then he was up, looking for the fallen camel.

It had come to a stop in a drift of loose sand and appeared to be uninjured. But it was snorting and kicking furiously, its anger visibly heightened to a high degree.

Joe ran over to it and attempted to give aid, but the furious dromedary kicked at him in a rage.

Mr. Lewis and Bob came running down, finding footholds with difficulty.

“Wait!” cautioned the naturalist. “Don’t hurry the camel. Let him take his time. His fit of anger will be over in a few minutes,” and then added: “That was some fall! We were afraid you’d be hurt seriously. No bones broken, are there?”

“I guess not,” Joe replied. “Just shaken up a bit. I’m afraid the dromedary is hurt more than I. Don’t see what could prevent it.”

“You may be right,” his father said solemnly. “We’ll find out in a minute.”

Before long the animal’s anger lessened, and it tried to rise. But its legs refused to move, despite the frantic efforts.

Mr. Lewis’s face took on an expression of anxiety. He bent down and felt of the struggling legs. Then he straightened up and shook his head hopelessly.

“Broken,” he muttered in a tense voice. “Two legs are broken.”

“What!” cried Mr. Holton, who, along with the others, had managed to scramble down the hill.

“Look for yourselves,” Mr. Lewis said gravely. “The camel’s weight was too great to come continually against the rather fragile limbs, and the hind ones snapped in two.”

The explorers’ faces were greatly sobered by the dread discovery. Now there was but one thing to do. The unfortunate beast must be left to die a slow and torturing death. There was no other way out, for the legs could not be set, and the beast could not be taken on.

Mr. Holton unstrapped his rifle from his shoulder.

“I’m going to put an end to it,” he said with a sudden decision. “It seems only humane, for otherwise death will come slowly and horribly.”

He walked over to a small elevation along the side of the dune, while his friends moved away to a safe distance.

After a moment of careful aim, he pulled the trigger.

The high-velocity bullet sped true, penetrating the brain.

There was but one spasmodic movement; then the camel rolled over, dead.

For some time the explorers were silent. It was not pleasant to see the useful dromedary come to such an end. Finally Joe began the ascent of the dune.

“It’ll seem strange without that camel,” he said. “How will I manage to have a mount?”

“You’ll have to take one of the pack animals,” returned Dr. Kirshner. “We’ll divide the supplies among the others and get along some way. If we do the right kind of scheming, I don’t believe the other camels will notice the extra load.”

It was difficult work climbing the treacherous slope of the dune. Many times their feet would scarcely find a foothold when the sand would give way, making it necessary for them to sprawl out or clutch one another in order to prevent rolling down.

At last they reached the top and began dividing the provisions among nine of the ten pack dromedaries. It required over an hour to complete the task, for it was difficult to find places for all their belongings.

“Now you may find it hard to get used to the strange camel,” said Mr. Holton, as Joe straddled the kneeling animal. “He may act up and threaten to throw you, but stick to it. It won’t take long to show him you mean business.”

“He’s been broken in some,” remarked Fekmah. “Though it may been good time since he had rider.”

Much to their surprise the dromedary responded to Joe’s commands at once, resigning himself over to his new master.

“And am I glad!” the youth exclaimed, as the little caravan prepared to resume the journey.

“That’s rather an exceptional piece of luck,” smiled Mr. Holton. “Usually it takes a good while for a camel to get used to its new rider.”

The explorers continued the journey, although they realized that they could cover but a few more miles before dark. Already the sun was beginning to sink behind the distant hills, tinting the dunes many colors.

“Didn’t get as far today as we did yesterday,” observed Bob, as the boys waited for Tishmak to find a suitable stopping place.

The guide found the place he wanted between two large dunes, which were spread out over a large amount of ground.

“Tishmak say we wait here and get supper,” said Fekmah, after a moment of conversation in the native tongue. “Then when moon come out, we go on and try to make up for lost time.”

“That suits me,” agreed Dr. Kirshner. “Almost anything would satisfy my appetite right now.”

The explorers dismounted and prepared the meal, which after the strenuous hours of constant traveling tasted delicious. Then they sat quietly in the semidarkness.

At last the moon came out, and the desert was again seen to take on a new appearance. The sand was even more beautiful than the night before, white as it was from the soft light.

Tishmak motioned for the adventurers to mount their dromedaries and get under way. If they expected to get over much more territory, it would be necessary to hurry.

“Here’s hoping we can come up to our hundred-mile minimum,” said Joe, urging his camel to trot faster.

It was nearly ten o’clock when they finally stopped for the night’s slumber. Fekmah was well satisfied with the distance they had made that day.

“Tomorrow we will come to Tudemait Plateau,” he said, after conversing with Tishmak. “It is a rocky region, with large black boulders.”

“Then we won’t see any more sand dunes?” asked Bob.

“No. The country will be rather level, but we will have to go many kilometers out of way to avoid rocks.”

“That’ll suit me,” put in Joe. “I’m tired of seeing nothing but sand.”

That night they trusted to good fortune and did not set a guard. Tishmak informed them that there was little danger of robbers in that region, and the alertness of the camels would be an added precaution.

“We are nearing the country of the Tuaregs,” explained Fekmah. “These natives are friendly, but drive away nomad robbers. We probably be safe tonight.”

And they were. The next morning they had completely regained their natural liveliness and pep, feeling thoroughly refreshed and ready for anything the day might bring.

Breakfast over, the long journey was resumed.

As Tishmak had predicted, the country gradually began to change. The sand dunes that had recently been high slowly became smaller and lower, and vegetation increased still more. Small rocks were everywhere, their color a dark gray or black. In the distance the sharp crags of the Tudemait Plateau could be seen.

As the explorers neared a low long mound, Tishmak’s dromedary suddenly halted and sniffed nervously. A moment later the animals of the other explorers also came to a stop.

“What’s this!” exclaimed Mr. Lewis, looking about wonderingly.

“Guess they heard something,” said Dr. Kirshner. “What it was, we’ll see in a moment. They have an uncanny power of detecting noises that we men can’t catch.”

Tishmak unstrapped his rifle and motioned for the others to do likewise.

“Wonder if it’s bandits,” muttered Joe, holding his gun in readiness.

The sound of camels’ footsteps now reached the adventurers’ ears. Then from behind a hill appeared a long trading caravan of Arabs, who also had their rifles in readiness.

Tishmak rushed forward, throwing his hands apart in a gesture of friendliness. He was followed by Fekmah and the others.

As soon as the Arabs saw that the whites meant no harm, they stopped and talked freely. Much to Dr. Kirshner’s delight, he could understand the men easily, their language differing greatly from that of Tishmak.

The Americans learned that the caravan was on its way to Wargla, loaded with a large supply of dried dates, grapes, and many other products of the desert oases. It was made up of over seven hundred camels, which were in a line several miles long.

“Look at the leader,” said Joe to his chum, referring to the head camel. “It’s decorated with about as many colors as there are.”

“Want to make a good showing,” smiled Bob. “From what I’ve heard, a caravan is judged by how well the first camel is engulfed by colors.”

Much as the explorers would have liked to talk with the Arabs, they did not stop long. Time was too valuable to be wasted, especially when they were literally running a race with the two thieves who had stolen Fekmah’s map.

But before they left, Bob and Joe took motion pictures of the caravan at several distances. Especially were the youths pleased by the friendly attitude of the Arabs when the camera was held before them.

“Doubt if they know what it’s all about,” smiled Bob. “But that doesn’t keep the pictures from being good.”

“Wouldn’t they be surprised if they could see themselves on the screen!” laughed Joe. “They’d probably think something supernatural was taking place.”

With a cheery farewell the American expedition left the Arabs at the head of the trading caravan and again took up the journey. But it required nearly a half-hour to pass the last of the pack camels, which were guarded at intervals of every fifty animals by an armed Arab.

“Seven hundred camels is a good many,” remarked Bob, as the youths rode at the rear of their own pack animals. “Their owner must have a good bit of money.”

“Many of those Arabs are wealthy, I guess,” said Joe. “Fekmah said some have as many as two thousand camels.”

As the explorers moved on, they saw other signs of small game. Occasionally Mr. Holton and Mr. Lewis displayed their skill with a rifle by shooting creatures from a great distance.

“Seems to be getting a little darker,” remarked Joe, as they descended into a little valley.

“Darker? Couldn’t be.”

Then, as Bob gazed ahead at the opposite slope, he uttered an exclamation of bewilderment.

“It is getting darker!” he cried. “Why – why, it’s impossible. Dark at nine in the morning! Something’s wrong somewhere!”

A second later Mr. Holton rode up to the boys anxiously.

“Get out your goggles!” he directed them. “We seem to be riding into a fog of black dust. Tishmak thinks we may have to stop for the day.”

CHAPTER XV

As Guests of Heathens

“WHAT!” cried Bob excitedly. “Stop for the day! We – we can’t. Our time is worth too much!”

The naturalist laughed unwillingly.

“This time it’s a question of what we have to do,” he said dryly. “If the blackness increases, it will be suicide to plunge through it with so many rocks and walls of stone near.”

The boys and Mr. Holton rode on up to the front of the caravan, where Tishmak and Fekmah were visibly moved with fear.

The darkness was becoming more intense with every minute. Soon the explorers could not see one another.

“It might be well to get off our dromedaries,” suggested Mr. Lewis. “If this is to continue long, it won’t pay to remain mounted.”

“This is likely to mean a loss of several hours,” said Fekmah gravely. “Then again, the fog of dust might pass away in but few minutes.”

“Worst thing about it is the difficulty to breathe,” pointed out Dr. Kirshner. “Tragedy has been known to come upon caravans in this manner.”

It was indeed stifling, but the adventurers managed to get air through the dust. They feared every minute that time would bring about an impossibility to breathe.

Much to their relief, that dread moment did not come, and after a half-hour the blackness gradually thinned out until it again became light.

“Thank goodness!” breathed Mr. Lewis. “Now let’s get on our way again.”

Still more the country was changing. The rocks became more jagged, taking on many shapes and forms. Small trees and plants became more abundant, causing the region to resemble certain areas of the American desert. And along with this plant life came numerous traces of wild animals.

“Wish we would run across a fox,” said Joe. “I’m anxious to shoot anything.”

“Probably will,” returned Bob. “I guess there are not only foxes but jackals and other small game. There should be much more here than in the sandy section.”

The party stopped at eleven o’clock for the meal and midday rest. This time the dromedaries alone were to be the guards, for they had already proved their efficiency in detecting unusual noises.

At two they were again on their way, climbing a gentle slope widespread with sharp rocks.

“Seems strange to get away from the sand dunes,” remarked Bob. “It hardly is like a desert now.”

As they passed up a rocky hill, Fekmah called a halt.

“We have come to the Tudemait Plateau,” he announced, getting out the map that he had made from memory. “That sharp peak in the distance is one of the landmarks. Now we pass through this plateau for rest of today and part of tomorrow; then come to another sandy stretch.”

“Then what?” inquired Mr. Holton.

“Get to Ahaggar Mountains,” the Arab replied. “We have to follow compass more close from now on, because must see peak called Illiman. Then we know we near treasure.”

“And here’s hoping those two thieves haven’t gotten there first and taken everything away,” said Joe.

That afternoon they came to a small well and refilled their containers, which were beginning to get low. Despite the fact that the water was exceedingly warm, it was greatly welcomed by the explorers.

A high hill was before them, and Bob suggested that they climb to the top afoot and make out the character of the land ahead of them.

The others were in favor of doing so, for Fekmah might catch sight of something that would be recognized as a landmark on the map.

The climb was tiresome but easy, the many boulders offering footholds. Finally they reached the top and turned their gaze toward the horizon.

“What’s that ’way over there?” asked Joe, pointing to a narrow valley walled closely by high rocks.

Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton had their binoculars strapped over their shoulders. They took them out and peered into the distance.

Suddenly Mr. Holton started.

“It’s a village!” he exclaimed, and Mr. Lewis nodded. “A village of Arabs. Look at the low huts of sun-baked mud,” handing the binoculars to Fekmah.

“Yes,” said Fekmah, gazing out through the glasses. “Suppose we go over there and see them. They treat us all right. It not take much of our time.”

“All right,” returned Dr. Kirshner. “I’m anxious to make a casual study of them. They might have some primitive implements that belonged to their remote ancestors.”

The adventurers made their way down the hill and mounted their camels. Then they rode off toward the distant valley. It was a good distance away, and perhaps hard of access, but the explorers were determined to find it.

In less time than they had expected, they came to a spot that would probably afford an opening into the valley. For a few minutes they wound in and out among the rocks. Then they came within sight of the village.

A crowd of Arabs ran out to meet them, uttering hearty greetings. It was evident that expeditions rarely passed within sight of their dwellings, for they were very excited.

Tishmak and Fekmah conversed with the people in a very friendly manner and then introduced the others of the American expedition.

Dr. Kirshner and the naturalists found it almost impossible to understand the language, and they were satisfied with Fekmah’s translations.

“A good chance to take some movies,” said Bob, getting out the camera.

“Don’t suppose the Arabs would object,” added Joe. “At any rate, we’ll risk it.”

The youths cranked off several scenes of the Arabs and their village. It was clear to the explorers that the people had never seen a motion-picture camera before. The strange purring box was an object of curiosity, and they crowded around like so many children.

To the Americans, these people were of great interest. The men and women dressed almost alike, in a long, white robe that reached to the ankles. A tight-fitting cloth was wound around the head, and the back of the neck was protected from the sun by a black veil. They were of a naturally swarthy complexion, which was still further darkened by the fierce desert heat.

“Not very pleasant to look at,” said Bob to his chum. “But they sure are giving us a hearty welcome.”

“That’s probably because they’re so unused to seeing strangers,” Joe remarked. “Nearly all friendly natives are that way.”

The Arabs led the explorers into the main part of the village, where there was a large open space before the chief’s, or sheik’s, hut. Suddenly the head native stopped and pointed to a distant large rock. He babbled animatedly to Tishmak and Fekmah, whose faces took on a look of disgust.

“Sheik say over there is a place where they bury those guilty of witchcraft,” Fekmah explained to the Americans. “They put to a terrible death, and then their bones taken over there.”

Mr. Holton shook his head repulsively.

“Ignorance is the root of evil,” he said. “These people are even worse off than the Negroes of the Congo. They so infrequently come into contact with civilization that they have degenerated into a state of almost nothingness.”

“With even more respect for Fekmah and Tishmak, the Arabs in many remote sections of the Sahara are a bloodthirsty, treacherous, and immoral people,” put in Dr. Kirshner. “They do not at all compare with their brothers in Algiers and other places nearer the coast.”

Fekmah nodded.

“Praise be to Allah that I was not born here,” he muttered.

The sheik invited the explorers to stay for dinner, but Fekmah politely refused, saying that they must hurry on.

“We have many miles to go yet,” he told them in the native tongue. “If we are to get far today we must be going now.”

The explorers left the village for their camels, the Arabs shouting warm farewells.

“Professor Bigelow ought to be here,” smiled Joe, referring to a famous anthropologist who had accompanied them on their expedition in Brazil.

“Wouldn’t he be tickled,” laughed Mr. Lewis. “But then – maybe he’s already been here. He has been about everywhere else studying primitive people.”

Soon the adventurers were out of the narrow valley, again taking up the journey. They were glad to get started again, welcoming any new sight in the way of oddly shaped rocks, deep valleys, and other formations of nature.