"And may fortune attend you," Ali responded.
Halfway across the camel khan, Ali stood grimly unmoving and silently
awaited that which Allah had ordained. At any rate, none but Allah could
now direct the tide of destiny, for Ali himself had tried.
A former Navy officer whose title derived from that service, and not now
attached to the military, Lieutenant Beale had arrived late yesterday
afternoon. Ali knew that because he had remained at a respectful distance
and witnessed the arrival. It was what he had expected; camel drivers
do not participate in formal welcomes for caravan masters.
Beale was accompanied by two companions, men so young that they were
hardly more than boys, and all were greeted by and escorted to the house
of Major Wayne. Ali drew his rations and retired to his own house, a
lean-to behind the camel khan. Two hours ago, while the light of a new
day was only a dim promise in the sky, he had been routed out and told
to make ready.
Shortly thereafter, he met Lieutenant Beale. Again skipping formality,
which did not bother Ali, the introduction consisted of a good look at
his future chief. Ali liked what he saw.
Edward Beale looked older than his mid-thirties, but it was a look that
experience alone had imparted. A trained surveyor and veteran of numerous
excursions into the wilderness, Kit Carson was one of his many friends.
Beale's knowledge of dangerous situations resulted from facing danger and
finding his own way out. One of the original few who had conceived the
idea of a Camel Corps and then worked tirelessly for it, Beale was a
demanding taskmaster, with a touch of the martinet. However, Ali had
seen enough men to know Beale as very much of a man.
The sun was just rising as Ali followed Major Wayne's party to the khan,
so Lieutenant Beale might select the animals he wanted. He rose
considerably in Ali's opinion when his first choice was Old Mohamet, the
wisest and best baggage camel in the herd. Beale followed with Gusuf
and, without a single error selected twenty-four of the best animals in
the herd. Finally, he fixed his eyes on Ben Akbar.
"That's as fine a _dalul_ as I've seen," he remarked. "We'll take him."
Ali nodded, not even slightly surprised. Could anyone who chose camels
with such a discerning eye fail to choose Ben Akbar? The expedition
certainly had the right commander.
Lieutenant Beale looked from Ben Akbar to Sied, an all-white animal
previously chosen and, next to Ben Akbar, the best _dalul_ in the herd.
A soldier came to advise Major Wayne that he was wanted elsewhere and
the commanding officer of Camp Verde left. Lieutenant Beale, his young
companions and Ali were left alone in the khan.
After studying Sied thoroughly, a time-consuming process if correctly
done, Lieutenant Beale turned to subject Ben Akbar to the same intense
scrutiny. Ali discarded all doubts he might still have concerning Beale.
Anyone could look at a camel, but few had the knack of looking, seeing
and understanding.
Ali had known cameleers of great experience who would never bother with
such preliminaries. Faced with two apparently equal _dalul_, they would
accept either, after assuring themselves that both were good. But the
best of the camel men never chose lightly. Among them, an elite few were
entirely willing to spend as much time as necessary to study every beast
in a herd, so that they might finally select the one best fitted to
their requirements.
Finally, Beale gestured toward Ben Akbar and turned to his companions.
"That red Nomanieh dromedary is superb," he said. "I want a closer
look."
He started toward Ben Akbar, who was standing quietly near the far wall
of the khan. Ali, who had understood none of the conversation but who
knew all too clearly what Beale's gesture indicated, felt his heart
catch in his throat.
He whirled toward the gate, and eyes already worried became desperate
when there was no evidence of Major Wayne. Ali turned back to Lieutenant
Beale, already a third of the way across the khan, and he shivered in
terrible indecision. A camel driver did not presume to give orders to
his leader!
The two young men seemed to have forgotten Ali and kept fascinated eyes
on Lieutenant Beale. Ali ran forward. A camel driver did not command his
chief, but neither did he let him go to certain injury and possible
death.
Running up behind the officer, Ali grasped his arm. Lieutenant Beale
stopped and swung about, but his eyes were questioning rather than
angry, and he arched interrogatory brows.
"Well, boy?" he asked.
Ali remained speechless. Though he could have voiced a warning in Syrian
or any of a dozen Arabic dialects, he did not know how to speak in a
tongue Beale might understand. Presently, and happily, he found the
perfect solution in one of the bits of English he had mastered but sadly
misinterpreted.
The fists of a constantly brawling soldier had hammered out an unbroken
string of victories. As a result, his companions trod with appropriate
wariness and offered proper respect. Obviously, therefore, the name
bestowed on their pugnacious brother-in-arms indicated that which was
better left alone. Ali gestured toward Ben Akbar.
"Sad Sam," he pronounced.
"What?" Lieutenant Beale's quizzical frown became an engaging grin.
"Sad Sam," Ali repeated.
Lieutenant Beale turned to glance at Ben Akbar. "Sad Sam, eh? He does
look a bit melancholy at that. I'll see if I can make him smile."
Pulling away from Ali, he resumed walking toward Ben Akbar. Ali waited
in his tracks, unable to think of anything else he might do. Lieutenant
Beale passed Ben Akbar's point of no return, and only Allah could help
now.
Then, even as Ali drew each quick breath with a dreadful certainty that
it must mark Ben Akbar's quick lunge, the _dalul_ stepped forward. He
thrust his head over Lieutenant Beale's shoulder and waited in shivering
ecstasy for his neck to be scratched.
Ali caught his breath and the look in his eyes was one of profound
respect. This man was indeed to command. There would be no failure.