Two days went past of anxious, constant travel across ungiving desert. Then they reached the point where Rali had arranged that Yofa should rejoin him. But Yofa was not there, and Rali was much perturbed. “Faithful, courageous brother, who had deliberately undertaken to draw the whole hornet’s nest of robbers in chase of him; pray Allah no ill-merited fate had befallen him! Yet Yofa was tireless and skilled in travel, and his camel fleet of foot: why did he wait not here?”
Rali had grave misgivings that the worst had befallen his comrade. More serious thought still, if Yofa had been captured the robbers would have returned speedily to their camp, to discover his deceit and the flight of Kahena, and, at the moment, in all probability, they were following the incriminating tracks in the sand.
That night Rali dared not camp, and wearily but surely he picked his way in the dark, ever onward, ever nearer to the mountains of Aïr.
Another uneventful day passed, and then, terribly exhausted, in particular Kahena, at risk of being overtaken, they lay down at night to sleep, while the hungry camels were hobbled and turned away to snatch what pickings they could find in plant-starved, ungenerous surroundings.
Next morning, as they hurried on southward, the northern ranges of Aïr loomed in sight, at first low and smoke-blue on the distant horizon; thereafter ever growing in dimensions and solidity as the interval lessened between the fugitives and the ancient land of their race, which offered a measure of protection.
Alas! just when hope of successful escape appeared to be materialising, Rali, who had always been casting anxious glance behind, saw at last that which he dreaded to see—a cloud of dust rising faintly on the horizon. But he said not a word of this discovery to Kahena, and thereafter gave all his attention to urging the camels onward.
But by noon he could deceive her no longer, for the small dust-cloud had grown larger and unmistakable, and eyes might almost discern the raiders that were overtaking them.
“Kahena! fair and delicate flower of the desert,” he said, “thou art fashioned to flourish in sunny nooks where peace doth reign and foul winds of strife pass by thee, but to-day thou art a thing uprooted and shalt need be brave and worthy of thy name; for look! the robbers are close upon us.” Whereupon Rali turned in his saddle and pointed to the growing dust-cloud.
“Pray, child,” he cried, “that Allah hinder them until we reach the mountains,” and he urged the camels onward, sparing not the jaded animals in his need.
A race against time ensued—a tense, terrible race, nerve-trying, beast-killing.