“See,” he said.
Faintly limned against the shining disk of the sun, yet as clear as an etching, could be seen a tracery of lines that might, by active stretch of the imagination, be considered palm trees.
“The Oasis of Aiz-Or,” said Ali.
“What. That close,” cried Mr. Hampton. “Come, perhaps, we can still be in time to help. That cannot be far.”
“Five miles at least,” said Ali. “But we shall hurry.”
Turning, he addressed the Arabs in their own tongue. On each face came a gleam of determination. These were men who could be depended upon, men, moreover, not only ready but eager, in all likelihood, for a fight.
Those whose only knowledge of camels has been gleaned from circus or zoo cannot appreciate the speed of which these desert travellers are capable under urging. A clatter of grunts, punches and camel cries succeeded Ali’s command to his men, and then the caravan was under way.
Lurching this way and that, clinging for dear life, the boys and Mr. Hampton managed not only to retain their seats, but also to keep up with the others. On galloped the camels, every moment exhorted to further efforts. For a few minutes, while the sun still held, the trees of the oasis outlined against it seemed literally to hurl themselves forward, so rapid was the pace of the approaching party. Then the sun dropped out of sight, literally fell away, and was succeeded at once by darkness.
Still the party kept on without abating its pace, the long legs of the camels eating up the miles at an unbelievably rapid rate. Jack, Bob and Frank had no time for thought. They were wracked in every limb. They felt as if they were being torn apart on a torture machine. Still they clung, while their camels surged forward with the rest.
Then Ali’s voice was raised in a sharp command, and at once the other Arabs repeated certain cries to their camels which slowed them down. The boys had the good sense to realize what was wanted, and they, too, emitted the necessary grunts which seemed to constitute the language of camels.