"Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh knows that," he said. "He knows what the Tanezruft is. He who has traveled over all the Sahara knows that he would shudder at crossing the Tanezruft and the Tassili from the south. He knows that the camels that wander into that country either die or become wild, for no one will risk his life to go look for them. It is the terror that hangs over that region that may save you. For you have to choose: you must run the risk of dying of thirst on the tracks of the Tanezruft or have your throat cut along some other route.
"You can stay here," he added.
"My choice is made, Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh," I announced.
"Good!" he replied, again opening out the roll of paper. "This trail begins at the second barrier of earth, to which I will lead you. It ends at Iferouane. I have marked the wells, but do not trust to them too much, for many of them are dry. Be careful not to stray from the route. If you lose it, it is death.... Now mount the camel with the little one. Two make less noise than four."
We went a long way in silence. Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh walked ahead and his camel followed meekly. We crossed, first, a dark passage, then, a deep gorge, then another passage.... The entrance to each was hidden by a thick tangle of rocks and briars.
Suddenly a burning breath touched our faces. A dull reddish light filtered in through the end of the passage. The desert lay before us.
Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh had stopped.
"Get down," he said.
A spring gurgled out of the rock. The Targa went to it and filled a copper cup with the water.
"Drink," he said, holding it out to each of us in turn. We obeyed.