I gave him a few dates, and bade him taste our travelling fare. "Who are you?"
"They call me Ali Wad Feid," he replied; "and, to be honest with you, my intentions were not well disposed to you. I was changing my pasture ground, and arrived a few days ago with my flocks at the foot of those hills which you see from here to the south. I went to the cleft in the rocks to see if there were much water there, because we might need it, although we also get drinking-water in the plain. There I found traces of a camel, and followed them up. When, in the distance, I saw the white skin of your feet which were sticking out of your hiding-place, I realised that a stranger was concealed here, and tried to get away again unobserved, so that," said he, smiling, "I might return again with a few comrades by night, and make your further journey easier by removing your superfluous luggage. I thank God that my cousin here caught me up. By night I should not, perhaps, have recognised him."
"Ali Wad Feid," said my guide, who had listened in silence, "I will tell you a little story. Listen! Many years ago, when I was a little fellow, in the days when the Turks ruled in the land, my father was Sheikh of these mountains, which then were thickly peopled. One night there came a man, a fugitive, who sought asylum with my father. He was closely pursued by Government troops, under suspicion of being a highway brigand who had murdered some merchants. His women fell into the hands of his pursuers; but he himself sought and found protection with my father, who kept him in concealment. A long while after, my father went to the seat of Government at Berber, and by money and fair words succeeded in obtaining pardon for the man, against whom there existed no definite proofs of guilt. He went bail for him, and set free his women, who were in prison. That man's name was Feid —"
"And he was my father," interrupted Ali, whose face had grown grave during his narrative. "I was born later, and heard the story from my dead mother, on whom God have mercy. My brother, let me give you good tidings. What your father did for mine, his son will do for your father's son. In peace or in peril I am with you. But, follow me, and I will show you a better hiding-place."
We went some two thousand yards back round the hill towards the south, and reached a sort of little grotto formed of rock slabs, large enough to hold two men.
"When evening comes bring your baggage here, although there is nothing to fear, since the hills are uninhabited; but under the cover of darkness you can choose some other spot in the neighbourhood to sleep in. It is impossible to be quite sure that some one may not have perceived you, and have the intention which I confessed to have had, of returning after dark. I have lost time, and my road is a long one. I will go, pick up what news I can, and return to-morrow when it is dark, announcing my presence by a low whistle. Farewell till then!"
As Ali Wad Feid had advised us, we selected a place to sleep in, and early in the morning, before the sun rose, retired again to our cave. Throughout the day Hamed Hussein kept watch from a high point of vantage, like a sentry on a tower, and only came to me when driven in by hunger. Our bread came to an end this day, and we had only dates to eat.
In the evening, two hours maybe after sunset, we heard a low whistle. It was Ali Wad Feid, who, faithful to his promise, had come to visit us. He brought some milk in a small vessel of gazelle-skin (the skin of young gazelles is tanned by the Arabs, and now much used for carrying milk in), and had rolled up some bread (millet cakes) in his farda.
"I pretended to my wife that I was going to visit the caravan folk, and show them hospitality," he said, after greeting us. "I cannot trust her with the truth, she is such a chatterbox."