“Yes,” the Arab returned, “I will stay. And I not afraid that you will fail.”
“I’ll try not to,” Bob said, getting on his dromedary.
With a warm farewell the youth rode off at a rapid pace. His mind was desperately set upon a purpose. He would rescue his father and friends if he had to do it himself.
The Tuareg village was several miles away, but his fleet-footed camel covered the distance in no time.
“Here’s where I get busy with this new dialect,” Bob thought, getting out the paper of native words.
A score or more Tuaregs came running up, led by the chieftain, whom Bob had saved from death previously. The people shouted sincere welcomes.
Bob glanced down at the paper and found a few words for casual conversation. They were not difficult to pronounce, and the effect upon the natives was astounding. They were indeed surprised to find that this white youth could speak any of their language.
But before long Bob got to the purpose. There was one word that stood out in his mind more prominently than any of the others. It was reeskra (help).
As best he could, the young American picked out several words and put them in sentences. He outlined briefly and simply that his father and friends were being held captives in a cave not a great distance away. If the Tuaregs would give aid, they would be rewarded. Would they help?