“He must have been to sleep,” laughed Hassan, “and have let go the rope. And now if he catch it ere the Day of Judgment, it will surprise me.”
When the man stole round to one side of the hillock, his camel, which till then had been browsing peacefully, lifted its head and stepped round to the other. They could see the headrope dangling as it ran.
The man stood still, in thought apparently; for soon, as if struck by a new idea, he started to climb the mound. From the top he caught sight of the camel beneath him, placidly chewing. They could hear his yell of triumph as he rushed down upon it. But he pitched headlong—and by the time he reached level ground his camel was not there.
The man sat nursing himself.
“Now he weeps, I assure you,” cried Hassan, exultant.
“Let us go down and help the poor man,” said Shems-ud-dìn.
“No, that we will not! It were a sin! But I am with thee, my dear, to go down and hear his tale. It must be a rare one. Ma sh’ Allah!”
Already Shibli and the younger men were urging their horses down the steep decline. Old Hassan followed at a breakneck pace. Only Shems-ud-dìn and Mâs the negro stayed by the litter. Care for the sick girl obliging them to descend very slowly, step by step, by the time they reached the foot the rest of the party had been some time gathered round the lord of that froward camel. Shems-ud-dìn drew near the group.
The fellâh was about finishing his tale of woe. He moaned: