A solitary Bedouin joined the expedition which set out in search of
the Europeans. This was Abou-Zamil, the man whose horse M. de Morin
had so unceremoniously appropriated. Anxious to regain his steed;
attracted, on the one hand, by the arguments and brilliant
inducements held out by the interpreter, Ali; dismayed, on the other,
by the threats of the Consul, who seemed disposed to hold him
responsible for the abduction of Joseph, the Bedouin, after a period
of hesitation, ended by offering his services to the expedition. They
were provisionally accepted; but he was not armed, like the men
composing the escort, with pistol, gun, and axe.
The troop of horsemen dashed through Djiddah at full gallop, and took
the road along which, but a few hours previously, the young painter,
his interpreter, and his servant had passed.
Ali rode at their head and showed them the way. When they reached the
ruins of the mill, whence M. de Morin had started off in sole pursuit
of his five Bedouins, they stopped to consult. But no deliberation
was necessary, for along the sand they could easily discern the
tracks left by the camels, and, parallel with them, the fainter hoof-marks
of Abou-Zamil's horse.
This trail the whole troop followed for five or six leagues, but the
sun, gradually taking leave of the plain over which they had been
riding for the last two hours, was slowly sinking behind the
mountains of El-Hejaz, which bounded the horizon.
A few moments more and the track would no longer be visible. They
determined to profit to the utmost by the sun's last rays, and the
horses, urged on by their riders, increased their pace, and soon
placed another dozen miles behind them.
By this time the sun had just given place to the stars, whose light,
brilliant as it was, did not suffice to light up the track. Another
halt was therefore made, and a fresh consultation held.
Should they trust to fortune and ride on at hap-hazard? Or would it
be better to trust themselves to Abou-Zamil, who undertook to act as
guide and bring the travellers to the precise spot where he imagined
his friends would have stopped?
This question gave rise to some consideration, for the Bedouin seemed
to be an object of suspicion to everybody except Ali and Omar—the two
interpreters—who maintained that, up to a certain point, he might be
trusted.
Their opinion prevailed; but M. Périères thought it prudent to take
Abou-Zamil aside and address the following little speech to him,
which was simultaneously translated by one of the interpreters.
"We are about to entrust to you not only our own safety, but that of
our friends, whom we are endeavouring to find, and we shall follow
your lead throughout the night without any question or remonstrance
whatever. If, by to-morrow morning, no accident shall have happened
to us, and if we have regained our companions, I give you my word as
a Frenchman, and it is worth all your oaths taken on the Koran, that
on our return to Djiddah, I will give you the value of three
magnificent camels, as well as a gun, which will make you king of the
desert. But if you play us false and lead us out of our proper
course, if our friends are killed, we will tie you to the nearest
tree and shoot you, as they shoot traitors in our country. It is for
you to choose."
The eyes of Abou-Zamil sparkled with joy when he heard mention of the
camels and the gun, nor did he cower at the threat of being shot, for
he looked upon that as a good sign. Nevertheless, he made one
reservation—
"I promise," said he, "not to betray you, and I undertake to put you
in the right road, but I cannot engage that you will find your
companions alive. I know nothing of what has passed for some hours,
or is passing, perhaps, at this moment. God alone knows that."
M. Périères was compelled to admit that there was a certain amount of
logic in the argument.
"We are not unjust," he replied. "If it can be proved to us that you
have done all in your power to prevent any hindrance or disaster, we
shall be satisfied, and you shall have your promised reward."
"Good," said Abou-Zamil. "Trust to me."
This question settled, a halt was ordered, for the horses, called
upon for a long journey, had need of rest.
Omar and Ali, like provident servants, had taken care, when they set
out, to place a supply of provisions in the large saddle-bags which
they carried, and now they proceeded to distribute to all a portion
of the welcome viands. As for the horses, they were turned loose and
had to make the most of such tufts of grass as they could find half
buried in the sand.
In the evening "boot and saddle" was once more the order. The sky was
literally studded with stars, but the moon had not yet appeared.
Abou-Zamil took the lead. Suddenly he gave a shrill, prolonged
whistle, familiar to the horses of El-Hejaz, and, at this signal,
these splendid animals pricked up their ears, stretched out their
necks, and bounded off at full speed. Several of the riders,
unprepared for this sudden start, were within an ace of losing their
seats, and they certainly would have lost them if they had been
sitting on English saddles. But the Arab saddle is so high peaked,
both before and behind, that the rider is almost, so to speak,
partitioned in; his feet are placed in large stirrups, and a fall, if
not impossible, is at all events difficult. Moreover, the paces of
the Arab horses have nothing jerky about them, but are as smooth and
regular as possible. Their gallop is more conducive to sleep than to
excitement, and it is no uncommon sight to see an Arab tie his bridle
to the pommel of his saddle, set his horse going, and, so long as he
knows the road to be even, sleep as calmly as if he were under his
tent.
At this sweeping stride, which, though so smooth, is also productive
of dizziness, they continued on and on for some hours. Every now and
then MM. Périères and Delange, found their breath failing them from
bending down in their saddles and receiving the wind in their faces;
but, at the same time, they frequently experienced a sort of
exhilaration on meeting the air; their lungs dilated, and their
brows, still heated from the effects of the hot sun during the day,
felt refreshed and comforted. They were under the influence of the
intoxication of the desert, that feeling of elation experienced by
those who know what it is to ride on and on, no obstacle in their
way, no road to follow, no defined goal to reach, with nothing to
limit their far-reaching gaze, in absolute silence and boundless
space, between heaven and earth.
But as this feeling of elation subsided, as their mind resumed its
habitual tone, they began to wonder how it was that the speed of
their horses did not slacken, how it was that these creatures did not
fall down, worn out with fatigue. They had heard or read that certain
breeds of Arab horses were capable of doing their fifty or sixty
leagues without drawing rein, but they had not put much faith in such
tales. They saw now that these thoroughbreds, whose pedigree has been
handed down from century to century amongst the tribes, were capable
of any exploit. They confessed, too, that the French Consul had not
deceived them when he said that the horses of El-Hejaz were amongst
the most perfect of Arabia.
The first faint glimmer of dawn appeared in the East, and still these
steeds, prodigies in their way, held on their rapid course. At length
Abou-Zamil showed signs of slackening the pace; he ceased to give the
shrill, prolonged whistle with which he roused the horses to fresh
exertions, the only sound that, from time to time, had broken the
awful silence of the desert.
A few moments more, and, at a sign from the Bedouin, the whole troop
came to a dead stop. With one bound he sprang off his horse, stooped
down, and, by the faint light of dawn, examined the ground about
where he stood with great care. After a short scrutiny he stood up,
and, turning to Ali, who was nearest to him, said—
"Look here."
And he showed him in the sand the footprints of five camels and a
horse.
M. Périères and M. Delange hurried to the spot, and in their delight
expressed themselves in the warmest manner towards the Bedouin.
"And what are we to do now?" they asked.
"That is your affair," replied Abou-Zamil. "I have fulfilled my
engagement, and, thanks to me, you have overtaken the persons whom
you have been pursuing."
"They are, then, near here?" asked the interpreters.
"They are over there," replied the Bedouin, pointing to the spot,
"and as soon as the sun appears you will see their encampment."
"Consequently," said M. Delange, gleefully, "we are on the point of
regaining our friend."
"I know nothing about that," was the Arab's reply.
"Did you not show us the hoof-prints of his horse in the sand? At all
events he must have come thus far."
"A loose horse in the desert," answered Abou-Zamil, gravely, "leaves
the same traces as one with a rider on his back."
The joy which the two young men had at first experienced received a
sudden check. Their brows were knit, and their eyes, following the
direction pointed out by the guide, anxiously endeavoured to fathom
the secrets of the Arab camp.