The others were arising in excitement, all but Melchizedek, who still
stroked his gray streaked beard beneath his teguelmoust. The Amenokal
had seen much of desert war in his day and knew the horror of the new
weapons possessed by the crack troops of the Arab Legion.
But his aged shoulders shrugged against the inevitable.
Crawford said, the ring of authority in his voice. "What does the
Amenokal of all the Ahaggar say?" He had no intention of antagonizing
the Tuareg chief by going over his head and directly to the people.
"Thou art El Hassan," Melchizedek said, his voice low, "and
undoubtedly it is fated that the Tuareg follow you, for verily there
is no way else to go, as each man knows."
"Wallahi!" Guemama crowed jubilantly.
[Illustration]
V
Guemama, nephew of Melchizedek the Amenokal of the Ahaggar Tuareg
confederation and fighting chief of the Kel Rela clan of the Kel Rela
tribe, brought his Hejin racing camel to an abrupt halt with a smack
of his mish'ab camel stick. He barked, "_Adar-ya-yan_," in command to
bring it to its knees, and slid to the ground before his mount had
groaned its rocking way to the sand.
The Tarqui was jubilant. His dark eyes sparked above his teguelmoust
veil and he presented himself before Homer Crawford with the elan of a
Napoleonic cavalryman before his emperor. Were red leather fil fil
boots capable of producing a clicking of heels, that sound would have
rung.
Crawford said with dignity, "Aselamu, Aleikum, Guemama. Greeting to
you."
"Salaam Aleikum," the tribesman got out breathlessly. "Your message
spreads, O El Hassan. My men ride to eastward and westward and never a
tent from here to Silet, from In Guezzam to Timissao but knows that El
Hassan calls. The Taitoq and the Tegehe Mellet ride!"
Homer Crawford was standing before the hovercraft. The Amenokal's
tribesmen had set up two large goat leather tents for his use and the
three Americans had largely withdrawn to their shelter. Crawford was
aware of the dangers of familiarity.
Cliff Jackson, who as usual had been monitoring the radio, came from
the hover-lorry and growled, "What's he saying?"
"The tribesmen are gathering as per instructions," Homer said in
English.
Jackson grunted, somewhat self-conscious of the Targui's admiring
gaze. The Tuareg is the handsomest physical specimen of North Africa,
often going to six foot of wiry manhood, but there was nothing in all
the Sahara to rival the build of Homer Crawford, not to speak of the
giant Cliff Jackson.
Crawford turned back to the Tuareg chieftain. "You please me well, O
Guemama. Know that I have been in conference with my viziers on the
Roumi device which enables one to speak great distances and that we
have decided that you are to head all the fighting clans of the
Ahaggar, and that you will ride at the left hand of El Hassan, as
shield on shoulder rides."
The Targui, overwhelmed, made adequate pledges of fidelity, flowering
words of thanks, and then hurried off to inform his fellow tribesmen
of his appointment.
Isobel emerged from her tent. She looked at Homer obliquely, the sides
of her mouth turning down. "As shield on shoulder rides," she
translated from the Tamaheq Berber tongue into English. "Hm-m-m." She
cast her eyes upward in memory. "You aren't plagiarizing Kipling, are
you?"