The fellow lived in a small, low structure of clay, and although not pleasing to the eye, it probably lessened the intense heat of the fierce desert sun.
Fekmah knocked at the door. A moment later a tall Arab greeted them, his face thin but not indicating that he was possessed of a weak constitution.
“Are you Tishmak?” Fekmah asked.
The Arab nodded.
Fekmah then conversed rapidly in the native tongue, and although the Americans could not catch the meaning of most of the words, they gathered that their friend was succeeding in employing the man to act as a guide. A moment later he confirmed their suspicions.
“He will go,” Fekmah said delightedly. “And his price is right.” He then proceeded to introduce the Americans as best he could in his own language, for the guide could not speak English.
“Now,” began Dr. Kirshner, “what about the camels? Can this fellow, Tishmak, get them? How many will we need? Ask him, Fekmah. I’m afraid I can’t get along very well with his mixed dialect.”
Their friend put the question before the guide, and he at once gave them an answer.
“He says he can get them,” Fekmah translated. “And how many we will need depends on our own taste. But he makes suggest that we use twenty. That is seven for us to ride and thirteen to carry food and other things.”