Not accustomed to freedom after standing so long bound by cramping
ropes, the _dalul_ shook his head and stamped his forefoot. Then he gave
two prodigious sidewise leaps toward the picketed baggage camels and
roared.
The baggage camels crowded very close together, as though for the
comfort each found in the others, when the _dalul_ leaped. His roar
robbed them of common sense, so that they began a wild plunging. Even
better than Ali, the baggage camels knew the _dalul's_ quality. They'd
have broken their tethers and stampeded had not some of the Druse taken
note of the situation and rushed in to quiet the terrified beasts.
For the first time, Ali had a few fleeting moments to wonder why he
still lived. It had seemed inevitable that, if the Druse did not kill
him, the _dalul_ most certainly would. Perhaps, during the tortured
hours it had stood as captive, it had marked its enemies and knew Ali
was not among them. More probable, Ali's gift, his ability to
understand and be understood by all camels, had proved itself once
again.
Ali shrugged. He didn't know, and probably never would know, just why
the _dalul_ had not killed him the instant it was free. But Allah knew,
and it was not for Ali to question or even wonder about His judgments.
Ali's business was camels. He decided that it was high time he took his
business in hand and called the _dalul_.
It responded, but before coming all the way to Ali, it stopped twice to
bestow a long, lingering and disappointed look upon the camp of the
Druse. Raging, but bound and helpless, the _dalul_ had promised his
captors a battle as soon as he was free. The challenge still stood, and,
even though the Druse were not accepting, the situation rebounded to
Ali's benefit. While the _dalul_ roamed the camp, the enemy dared not
move freely, and Ali's peril was correspondingly less.
After his second inspection of the enemy camp, the _dalul_ did not stop
again or even look about him but continued straight to Ali. He halted a
few steps away and grunted a little camel song. Then he extended his
long neck and lightly laid his head on his rescuer's shoulder. Ali
embraced the great head with both arms and pressed his cheek close to
the _dalul's_ neck.
"Mighty one!" he crooned. "Peerless one! Where is a name worthy of such
as you?"
The Druse were continuing the hunt, and when and if they found Ali,
they'd be overjoyed to kill him as dead as possible in the shortest
necessary time. But creeping into an armed Druse camp, his only weapons
a dagger and courage, was one matter. Waiting beside the young _dalul_,
whom the Druse had every reason to fear, was quite another. Again Ali
addressed the young stallion.
"Sun of cameldom! Jewel of the caravan routes! By what title may you be
called so that, wherever you may venture, all men shall know your deeds
when you are called by name?"
The young _dalul_--and if he had the faintest interest in the name Ali
or anyone else might bestow, there was no indication of that--took his
head from Ali's shoulder to sniff his hand. Obviously, it was high time
for Ali to seek divine assistance in determining a name for the _dalul_,
and it would not come amiss to indicate that haste was in order. Even
Druse tribesmen, knowing Ali was in camp but failing to find him, must
sooner or later deduce that he was with the _dalul_.
Ali faced Mecca. He began his supplication with the customary "_Allahu
akbar_--God is most great." He ended it at precisely the same place,
more than a little overwhelmed by the speed with which Allah may respond
to even the least of His worshipers. Ali had scarcely started when he
knew the name he sought. He whirled to the _dalul_.
"From this moment you shall be known as Ben Akbar!" he declared
happily. "Ben Akbar!"
Transcending mere perfection, the name was a stroke of genius. Ben
Akbar, the unequaled, the peerless, the greatest _dalul_ of any. No
matter how hard they racked their own brains, regardless of the masters
of rhetoric they might consult, no camel rider anywhere would ever hit
upon a name that described his favorite in terms more superlative.
Now that Ben Akbar bore the only name that truly conformed to his
dignity and power, Ali turned his thoughts to affairs of the moment.
His entry into the Druse camp, audacious though it had been, never would
have created other than momentary alarm. Freeing Ben Akbar, a confirmed
killer camel in the mind of every Druse, gave a wholly different meaning
to the entire affair. The least of the raiders would happily prowl the
camp in search of Ali. But while darkness held sway, not even the best
of them cared to chance an encounter with Ben Akbar.
In addition, or so the Druse would think, killer camels made no
distinction among Moslems, Christians, Jews, or men of any other faith.
They killed whomsoever they were able to catch. Since Ali had been near
enough to cut the _dalul's_ bindings, it followed that the killer camel
had been able to catch him.
Regardless of anything the Druse thought at the moment, Ali knew that
they would not continue to remain deceived after sunrise. The signs,
the tracks, would be there for them to read, and few desert dwellers
read signs more skillfully. Despite anything their minds told them,
their eyes would leave no doubt that Ali and the _dalul_ had gone away
together.
For a brief interval, Ali speculated concerning the inscrutable ways of
Allah, who had bestowed upon the Druse tribesmen a maximum of ferocity
and a minimum of common sense. Obviously, it was his duty to take
certain most urgent action if he would live to greet another sunset.
At night, the Druse would have no stomach for attacking, or even coming
near, Ben Akbar. As soon as a new day brought light enough so they could
see, they'd never hesitate. If Ali happened to be near Ben Akbar, where
he had every intention of being, he'd be found.
Ali said softly, "We go, brother." With Ben Akbar pacing contentedly at
his shoulder, he faded into the darkness.
Although Ali wanted to go south, where he thought he'd have the best
chance of meeting the great _Hadj_, and the gulley in which the Druse
were camped ran almost directly north-south, he did not go down that
gulley. There was at least one enemy outpost stationed there--and
possibly more.
Ali climbed the ridge, retracing almost exactly the path he'd followed
when he came to the rescue of Ben Akbar. Rather than stop when he
gained the summit, he went on down into the next gulley and climbed the
following ridge. On the summit of that, he finally halted. Ben Akbar,
who sported neither tether rope nor rein but who was amiably willing to
walk behind Ali where the path was narrow and beside him where space
permitted, came up from behind and thrust his long neck over his
friend's shoulder. Ali reached up to caress the mighty head.
The baggage animals he'd seen in the Druse camp were just that,
ponderous beasts, bred to carry six hundred or more pounds a distance of
twenty-five miles at a stretch and to bear this enormous burden day
after day. Under ordinary circumstances, they'd be no match for the
_dalul_, but Ben Akbar was more than just tired and hungry. An hour of
the torment he'd endured was enough to sap more strength than an entire
day on the trail. His hump, that unfailing barometer of a camel's
condition, was half the size it should have been. There was no way of
telling when he'd had his last drink of water.
This last, Ali told himself, was of the utmost importance. Every urchin
on every caravan route knows that camels store water in their own
bodies, and that it is entirely possible for some seasoned veterans of
the caravan trails to plod on, though at an increasingly slower pace,
for three, four, or even five days without any water save that which
they absorb from their fodder. But those are the exceptions. As noted,
given an opportunity, camels will drink as much and as frequently as any
creature of similar size, and a thirsty camel is handicapped.
So, although Ali might have laughed in their faces had Ben Akbar been
rested and well-nourished, the Druse, who would most certainly be on
their trail the instant it was light enough to see, had more than a good
chance of overtaking them before nightfall. But before Ali could concern
himself with the Druse, there was something he must do.
"Kneel!" he commanded.
Ben Akbar knelt, settling himself with surprising grace. Ali mounted.
Though there was no riding saddle, he seated himself where it should
have been and placed his feet properly, one on either side of the base
of Ben Akbar's neck. There was no rein either, but the finest of the
_dalul_ were carefully schooled to obey the spoken word without regard
to rein. Ali gave the command to rise, then bade Ben Akbar go.
Ben Akbar's gait was as gentle as the evening wind that ruffles the
new-sprouted fronds of young date palms. Ali sent him to the right, then
the left, relying on spoken commands alone and getting a response so
perfect that there'd have been no need of a rein, even if the _dalul_
wore one. Ali no longer had reason to wonder if Ben Akbar was the
property of a rich man. None except the wealthy could afford the fees
demanded by riding masters who knew the secret of teaching a camel to
obey spoken orders.
Though he knew he should not, Ali ordered Ben Akbar to run. The camel
obeyed instantly, yet so imperceptible was the change in pace, and so
rhythmically smooth was his run, that he had attained almost full speed
before his rider realized that the change had been made.
Ali sat unmoving, letting the wind fan his cheeks and reveling in this
ride as he had delighted in nothing else he could remember. The gait of
riding camels varies as much as that of riding horses, but Ben Akbar
stood alone. Rather than landing with spine-jarring thuds as he raced
on, his feet seemed not even to touch the earth.
Ali had never ridden a smoother-gaited camel...but suddenly it occurred
to him that the ride had better end. Bidding his mount halt, Ali slid to
the ground and went around to where he could pet Ben Akbar's nose.
"You are swift as the wind itself, and the back of the downiest bird is
a bed of stones and thorns compared with the back of Ben Akbar," he
stated. "But it is not now that you should run."
Ben Akbar sniffed Ali gravely and blew through his nostrils. Ali
responded, as though he were answering a question.
"The Druse," he explained, "tonight they are helpless, for even if they
would follow, they cannot see our path in the darkness. But rest assured
that they shall be upon our trail with the first light of morning and
they know well how to get the most speed from their baggage beasts. If
you were rested and nourished, I would laugh at a dozen--nay!--a
thousand such! But you are weary and ill-cared-for, so tonight we must
spare your strength. Tomorrow, you may have to run away from the Druse!"
* * * * *
The next day was two hours old, and Ali and Ben Akbar were still walking
south, when Ali glanced about and saw the mounted Druse sweep over a
hillock.
At the same instant, they saw him and raced full speed to the kill.
Hearing, scenting or sensing pursuit, Ben Akbar swung all the way
around. He was very quiet, an indication that he would look to and obey
Ali. But there was about him a complete lack of nervousness, plus a
certain quality in the way he faced enemies, rather than turned from
them, that betrayed a war camel. He would flee from the Druse, if that
were Ali's wish, but he would run just as eagerly and just as swiftly
toward them, should Ali decide to attack.
Nervous, but controlling himself, Ali counted the Druse as they raced
down the hill. There were twenty-three, three more than had been in camp
last night, therefore some must have arrived after he left. They were
not the organized unit they would have been if they expected formidable
resistance. Since there was only one man to kill, and every Druse burned
to kill him, they came in wild disorder, with those on the swiftest
camels leading.
Though the charge was only seconds old, three of the Druse had already
drawn ahead of the rest. A glance told Ali that all three were mounted
on _dalul_. Since there had been no riding camels in the Druse camp,
obviously these were the three newcomers who had arrived during the
night. The rest were all mounted on baggage camels.
Because he had had a whole night's start, and the pursuing Druse should
have been hampered by the necessity for working out his trail, Ali had
not expected them before midday. Something had gone amiss. Possibly,
during the night, Ali and Ben Akbar had passed another outpost that they
had not seen, but that had managed both to shadow them and to send word
back to the camp. Perhaps the outpost had even consisted of the three
riders of _dalul_.
Ali concentrated on the three _dalul_. All were good beasts, but none
were outstanding, and, in an even contest, none could have come near to
matching Ben Akbar's speed. No, however--