AT THE OASIS OF ARAG-WAN
Herman Swank, Traprock’s intrepid follower, superintending the
important process of filling the camels.
At the Oasis of Arag-Wan
During the filling process I wandered out into the desert. The air was cool and delicious. A soft breeze whispered through the palm trees in the branches of which chattered a lavender tabit or doctor-bird. Beyond the edge of oasis the low-growing palmettos, oleanders and gun-sandarachs dwindled to stunted prickly pears and leprous leaved squill-vines among which I noted the fresh tracks of several audad and a jerboa.
Intensely interested as I am in the secrets of nature’s book I became completely absorbed in the perusal of this fascinating page, or perhaps I should say foot-note. Bending over the imprinted tracks in silent study I became aware of a soft tread on the sand back of me. I turned my head silently but though I made the motion with the greatest caution it was enough to stampede a flock of seven magnificent whiffle-hens, birds of the utmost rarity, a cross between the ostrich and the bustard.
They were off at once, loping across the desert with that supremely easy and deceptive swing of their slightly bowed legs, traveling at a gait which breaks the heart of the swiftest horse, their snowy plumes gleaming in the sunshine. But what brought me up all standing was the fact that the leader of the flock sported in the center of his tail-feathers a gorgeous ostrich plume which very evidently did not belong there. For it was bright blue!
On the instant I recognized it as the ornament worn by Lady Wimpole at the Casino in Monte Carlo!
A second later I was rushing pell-mell back to camp to rouse Ab-Domen and make preparations for pursuing the rapidly vanishing whiffle-hens.