Because Lieutenant Beale was determined to forestall any possible accusations to the effect that there had been no fair test, every camel was to carry a full load from this camp on. Though all were in superb condition in every respect save one, that single lack could be serious and perhaps disastrous. Since their feet were still soft, sore-footed camels were not only to be expected but were practically inevitable. Until such time as they were again trail-hardened, camels that might otherwise have left a favorable impression on a highly-skeptical public would make a dismal showing indeed.
Ali shrugged. There was nothing for it except go on, hope for the best and trust Lieutenant Beale.
Entering the corral, Ali saddled and bridled Ben Akbar and tied him to the top rail. It would help nothing if some soldier who decided he could handle Ben Akbar as he might a fractious mule were trampled and mauled for his pains.
Presently the soldiers came. All had considerable experience in conventional Army transport and all would have known exactly what to do if they were about to deal with conventional beasts of burden. As it was, none had the vaguest notion of the correct procedure with camels, and their lack of knowledge was expressed in a lack of confidence. They were awkward and self-conscious, and, at the same time, they were trying to conceal their uncertainty beneath a mask of indifference.
"Here we are, pal," the leader informed Ali. "What's next?"
Ali grinned, understanding nothing but having been previously informed that his helpers would need instruction. Before anything else, he pointed to Ben Akbar. As Lieutenant Beale had instructed, he said, "Bad one. Stay away."
The soldiers regarded Ben Akbar with respect plus challenging interest. All had met the bad ones and none had stayed away, but they had been handling beasts with which they were familiar. This time, at least until they had a better idea of what they were doing, it might be well to take this camel driver's advice. They turned expectantly back to him.
Ali saddled Mohamet, seeming to do so with a few deft motions, but years of experience and great skill were his invisible helpers. None knew better than he that a camel must be saddled with absolute perfection. If anything less, a slipping saddle will be certain a chafe a tender hump. It was an unwise practice, even if one had no regard for the animal itself; sore-backed camels cannot carry packs.
When Ali finished, each soldier selected a saddle and set about to practice the lesson he had just learned. Busy with a second camel, Ali pivoted when the air was split with a thunderous, "You ornery, slab-sided, no good, devil-begotten son of nothing!"
One of the aspiring cameleers was reeling back with both hands over his eyes. The camel he had been trying to saddle was standing quietly, apparently interested in nothing but a dreamy contemplation of the horizon. The soldier wiped his eyes.