Mysteries of the Libyan Desert

by W. J. Harding King

The neighbourhood of the place where the water had been poured was covered with the great square footprints made by Qway’s leather sandals, and made it quite clear that it was he who had emptied the tanks. There was no trace of the more rounded sandals worn by Abdulla on that side of the depot.

We followed Qway’s footprints for a short distance. About two hundred yards away from the depot they joined on to Abdulla’s, the small neat marks of Qway’s camel overlaying the bigger prints of Abdulla’s hagin—showing clearly that Qway had been the last to leave. I then returned with Abd er Rahman to the camp to decide what was best to be done.

The heavy leakage from the tanks we had brought with us, coupled with the large amount of water thrown away by Qway, made it abundantly clear that all chance of carrying out the scheme for which I had been working for two seasons, of getting across the desert to the Sudan, or of even getting as far as Owanat, was completely out of the question. It was a nasty jar, but it was of no use wasting time in grousing about it.

Our own position gave cause for some anxiety. So far as I and the men with me were concerned we were, of course, in no danger at all. Mut, with its water supply, could easily have been reached in about a week—it was only about one hundred and fifty miles away—and we had sufficient water with us and in the depots to take us back there.

As for Qway, I felt he was quite capable of looking after himself, and I did not feel much inclined to bother about him. The difficulty was Abdulla. From his tracks it was clear that he had no hand in emptying the tanks, and I very much doubted whether he knew anything at all about it. Abd er Rahman’s explanation of what had occurred was, I felt sure, the correct one. His view was that Abdulla, though “very strong in the meat, was rather feeble in the head,” and that Qway had managed to get rid of him on some excuse and had stayed behind to empty the tanks, which he had then put back in their places, hoping perhaps that we should not notice that anything was wrong.

Abdulla, counting on me to bring him out water and provisions, had gone off for a six days’ journey, relying on meeting us at the end of that time. After going as far as he could to the south, he was to cut across on to Qway’s track and then to ride back along it to meet us. The man had served me well, and in any case I did not feel at all inclined to leave him to die of thirst, as he certainly would, if we did not go out to meet him. Obviously, we should have to follow up Qway’s track to relieve him—a course which also held out the alluring prospect of being able to get hold of Qway himself.

But our water was insufficient to enable the whole caravan to go on together, and it was urgently necessary to send back to Dakhla for a further supply. The difficulty was to know whom to send. There was always the risk that Qway might wheel round on us and try to get at our line of depots; and unfortunately he carried a Martini-Henri rifle I had lent him. My first idea was to go back with Dahab myself, as I could have found my way back to Mut without much difficulty, using my compass if necessary—the road was an easy one to follow—and to let the two Sudanese go on to relieve their fellow-tribesman, Abdulla; but this scheme seemed to be rather throwing the worst of the work on them—besides I wanted to go ahead in order to make the survey.

Abd er Rahman, of course, could have found his way back quite easily; but, though he carried a Martini-Henri carbine, he was a vile shot, even at close range, as he funked the kick; moreover, he stood in such awe of Qway that I was afraid, if they met, he would come off second best in the event of a row, even with Dahab to back him up.

Ibrahim, however, cared no more for Qway than he did for an afrit that threw clods, or for anyone else. With his flint-lock gun—bent straight by Abdulla—he was a very fair shot; but he was young and had had little experience of desert travelling, and I was very doubtful whether he would be able to find his way. When I questioned him on the subject, however, after a little hesitation and a long consultation with Abd er Rahman, he declared his willingness to try, and his brother said he thought he would be able to do it.

The next morning he set out with Dahab and the two worst camels, carrying all the empty tanks. His instructions were to get back as fast as possible to Mut, refill the tanks, and come out again as quickly as he could with a larger caravan, if he could raise one, and to beg, borrow or steal all the tanks and water-skins he could get hold of in the oasis, and to bring them all back filled with water. I gave him a note to the police officer, telling him what had happened and asking him to help him in any way he could. I gave him my second revolver and Dahab my gun, in case they should fall foul of Qway on the way, and then packed them off, though with considerable misgivings as to the result.