Poor child! no longer had she the proud bearing of belle of her tribe. Distress and fear in long enduring her terrible position had left little of youth’s freshness and vigour, and she had come near to collapse and absolute surrender, though to this hour unsubmissive and fiercely antagonistic to the advances of her captors.
But her plight, and everything sinister in the inner life of the camp was, for the time being, securely hidden behind the disarming atmosphere of natural peacefulness of the scene.
But, of a sudden, a deep hush fell—and men, reclining idly on the sand by the huts, rose hastily to their feet and gazed to the south. Two travellers were approaching—a rare occurrence from such a quarter. Bezzou, chief of the village, tall and strong and good to look upon, yet with evil glint in his eyes, felt for the dagger in his sash. Like all men with blood upon their hands, he had twinges of conscience, and for one fleeting moment he showed his character and suspicions. But soon it was seen that the travellers were unarmed, and that no caravan followed behind them; and all misgivings were allayed.
With weary gait the camels of the travellers drew near to camp, their riders, dust-covered and careless, drooping forward over the high cross-heads of their saddles as if they dozed in excess of fatigue.
A SCENE IN AÏR
At the edge of the camp they ordered their camels to kneel, and wearily dismounted, to be greeted with the steely gaze of Bezzou and his men, which scrutiny they returned with equal rudeness and aloofness, as is the custom of the land when stranger meets stranger. After a few moments of eye-to-eye duel the travellers, without uttering a word, gave attention to their camels, removing the riding-saddles and the load, then hobbling the forefeet and turning them free to roll in the sand and search for grazing.
But, for all their travel-soiled, fatigued appearance, for all their seeming haughty indifference, those two men, little as it could be guessed, were, in reality, keyed up to the highest pitch of alertness—for the sleuths of the sand-trail had run their quarry to earth, and Rali and Yofa stood before their bitterest enemies—and well they knew their danger and need of courage.
In time Rali limped feebly forward and addressed himself to Bezzou in his own dialect:
“Chief of a strange people! to-night we would camp with thee! The seas of sand are wide between Kano and Tripoli, and voice of mankind is heard but seldom; and, sometimes, if he is heard, he is not a friend. See! I walk no longer like the gazelle. Six days ago we met foul robbers, who shot and chased us; but our camels are fleet of foot—and so we are here! But my leg, which is wounded, paineth me. I would have water to bathe it, and water to quench the thirst that sits sorely upon us both. I am a merchant; I have gift of cloth for thee if thou wilt bid men to serve our little wants.”