For the next eight hours they sped along barren country, only the outline of which could be seen in the darkness. At last they stopped at Tuggourt, formerly the last stop on the railroad.
“It won’t be long now,” sang Joe, as he sat up in his seat expectantly.
The train covered the fifty-mile journey in less than an hour, and then, after gradually moving downhill, it passed through a cluster of mud houses and pulled up at a modern station.
“All off!” said Mr. Holton. “Here’s Wargla, our destination.”
They got their bags off the train, and then stood for some time taking in their environment.
The sun was just beginning to peep from behind a high sand dune, and it was rather easy to make out the landscape. Over to one side was a high minaret of earth, the tallest sun-dried clay mound in existence. Scattered about were numerous clusters of date trees, and to their left was Wargla, glittering with many lights.
“Now what?” inquired Bob, rousing himself.
“Better get to the hotel,” answered Dr. Kirshner. “From what I’ve heard, it has been built but recently, and we’ll have everything of the latest design.”
A sign told them that the hotel was only a short distance away, and picking up their belongings, they walked over to it.