The picketed camels, that never saw any reason to give way to
excitement just because humans did, shuffled their feet, grunted and
went on munching fodder. His warning voiced, the young _dalul_ remained
silent. He would waste no more breath on threats or further warnings;
just let any man who came near enough look to his own safety! His very
silence had all the lethal promise of a poised, unsheathed dagger!
Ali said, "I hear, oh lord of all _dalul_, and I understand. But behold,
I free you!"
He spoke calmly, and there was no fear to be detected by the young
camel because there was none in Ali. This young camel driver, who had
seen the shadow of death, or heard death whisper, as frequently as did
all those who ventured forth on the lonely caravan routes, now assured
himself that he was not necessarily looking upon a forbidding being in
this tortured camel. But, be that as it may, he must take the chance.
The incurably ill, the weary old, the oppressed, the mistreated, knew no
friend more kind than Ali.
However, though he talked slowly and softly, he moved swiftly as a
leaping panther while he cut the first rope and went at once to the
second. The Druse camp was silent, and had been since that first shouted
alarm, but it was alert and the Druse were no fools. Certainly they
would know better than to come yelling and leaping, brandishing weapons
and mouthing threats.
Far more probable, Ali wouldn't even know an enemy was within striking
distance until he saw--or felt--the pointed dagger that was seeking his
heart or heard the swish of a descending sword. Then, if Allah so
decreed, one less camel driver would return to the caravan routes.
As he cut the remaining ropes, Ali continued to speak soothingly to the
young _dalul_. Far from nervous, or even slightly excited, the young
rescuer was almost serenely calm. Death would certainly be his portion
if the Druse had their way, and, of course, there was also a good
chance that he would die if he liberated the young _dalul_. But some
deaths are much sweeter than others.
It would be far easier, and more honorable, to die under the trampling
feet of a good Moslem _dalul_ than under the sword or dagger of a
heathen Druse. Besides, even though the _dalul_ first killed Ali, there
remained the satisfactory probability that he would then turn upon and
kill one or more of the villains.
Ali cut the final rope, the one about the _dalul's_ neck, and waited
calmly. He lowered the hand holding the dagger. He'd have sheathed the
weapon, except that one or more of the Druse might be upon him at any
moment and a dagger would be a convenient article to have in hand. But
Ali had no intention of fighting the _dalul_, or even of resisting
should it attack him.