Ali rose and remounted Ben Akbar. Since the horse did not belong to the expedition, obviously it was the property of someone else. The only human inhabitants of this forsaken waste were Indians. Though he had seen nothing except the track of one horse, Ali knew the Druse and the brigands of the caravan routes too well, and had fought them too often, to shrug it off as meaningless. One Druse going somewhere in a hurry could either be running from enemies or going to join some companions bent on raiding.
Since there was no indication of pursuit, obviously the Indian was not fleeing. But in Ali's opinion and experience, there was every reason to believe that any group of brigands anywhere would sack the expedition if they could.
So a group of bandits were assembling for the purpose of attacking the expedition. Or, Ali admitted, they were not assembling. He was certain only that there was at least one horse in the area and equally certain that there was water not too far away. The whole thing should properly be reported to Lieutenant Beale, but Ali remained indecisive.
If Beale knew what Ali knew, he would most certainly insist on a personal investigation at the earliest moment. Never doubting that his chief was a renowned and experienced warrior, Beale was also one to rush in where anything else feared to tread. Should one with so many distressing problems already on his mind be further burdened? Finally, and conclusively, the expedition might do very well without Ali. It couldn't possibly succeed without Lieutenant Beale. Therefore, who should logically run the risk? There was only one choice.
Ben Akbar trotted into camp where the remaining camels were contentedly feeding on greasewood. Sied was among them. Lieutenant Beale, who had also scouted for water, must have returned. He proved to be one of the little group who stood watching the agonized approach of the mules. Nobody had found water; if they had, they would not appear so downcast.
Dismounting, Ali removed Ben Akbar's trappings and the big dalul joined the feeding herd. Ali turned toward the oncoming wagons.
Heads bent, tongues lolling, the mules swayed in their traces and moved at a slow crawl. When the wagons finally drew up, the mules remained as they were when halted and did not so much as glance to one side or the other, even when stripped of their harnesses.
His mules unharnessed, but so nearly finished that they retained their team positions, the first driver went to his wagon and lifted down the water keg. He turned to Lieutenant Beale and spoke in a husky whisper, "Nary a drop left. Must of sprung a leak and—"
The mules came alert with a frantic rush and were upon him in a wild scramble. Surrounding the driver, their eager grunts and harsh gasping seemed the voice of madness itself as they fought each other for the privilege of licking the dry keg's bung hole. Unable to look, the soldiers turned away. Lieutenant Beale remained the leader.
"We can't move from here without water," he said quietly. "We'll try again tomorrow."