“That, as you know, was to be our first step. Afterwards, we were to proceed as our increased knowledge dictated. If it seemed the proper thing to do, we planned to send an embassy to the Athensians, asking permission to visit their city.”
“Could it have been the exiles of Korakum, Dad, who were responsible for this raid?” asked Jack.
Mr. Hampton shook his head.
“I do not believe so,” he said. “Souchard described them as friendly to him, and as you know they aided him to return to civilization. But enough of that,” he added. “Let us hear the rest of Allola’s story.” And turning to Ali, who acted as interpreter, he asked him to bid the old woman continue.
Nothing loth, for she relished being the center of attention and had resented this conversation in a tongue she could not understand, Allola described events on the day of the raid. “The Crazy One” and Ben Hassim had been absent more than two weeks from the oasis, but as they had stayed away equally long if not longer in the past, nobody worried. On leaving they had taken food and water on their led camels sufficient for a protracted stay, and it would not be necessary to feel anxiety about them for at least another week.
In the morning, however, on looking at a calendar which “The Crazy One” had given him and which was a source of much satisfaction, as he had never before been able to keep track of the passage of days, Sheik Abraham had noticed a black mark drawn around the date. Then he had recalled that long before his friend had told him that on this day, the thirtieth of the month, friends would arrive from the east.
“That’s right,” said Mr. Hampton, while the boys nodded. “We had arranged with Professor Souchard to time ourselves so as to arrive on this day. Leaving Khartum on such and such a day, if all went well, we would spend so many days in desert travel and reach the oasis on the thirtieth.”
Allola proceeded. Noting the date and recalling “The Crazy One’s” words, the Sheik Abraham had told the tribesmen to keep a sharp look out across the southern desert, for the return of him and Ben Hassim. All day the men and women, working about the oasis, in their little farm patches or grinding oil, had paused now and again to glance to the south.
Not until late in the afternoon, however, had they descried the looked-for figures approaching. They had gone out a little way into the desert to welcome them, and it had been a triumphal procession homeward. Everybody had crowded around to hear the tale of “The Crazy One’s” latest wanderings, as explained by the merry Ben Hassim, and it had not been dreamed necessary to keep watch. No watch ever was kept, anyway, as the tribe had no enemies and few, indeed, were the travellers who came this way.
Suddenly, a body of white men, strangely-clad (like that other, said Allola, nodding toward the tent within which lay the wounded Athensian) and mounted on swift camels, dashed into the midst of the encampment. They bore short heavy swords and lances, but made no effort to harm anyone.