United States or Estonia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
After several moments of superhuman effort we found ourselves at last out of danger, on a kind of basaltic terrace, elevated some fifty meters above the channel of the stream we had just left. Luck was with us; a little grotto opened out behind. Bou-Djema succeeded in sheltering the camels there.
At the same time, I looked at Eg-Anteouen. Absorbed in his prayer, bowed toward the west, apparently he was paying no attention to me. As he prostrated himself, I called again. "Bou-Djema, come with me to my mehari; I want to get something out of the saddle bags." Still kneeling, Eg-Anteouen was mumbling his prayer slowly, composedly. But Bou-Djema had not budged.
But it could not be found in the surprisingly polished air. And not a breath of air, not a breath. Suddenly one of the camels called. An enormous antelope had just come in sight, and had stopped in its flight, terrified, racing the wall of rock. It stayed there at a little distance from us, dazed, trembling on its slender legs. Bou-Djema had rejoined us.
He was quietly mending one of his sandals with a waxed thread supplied by Bou-Djema. He did not raise his head. "It is simply," explained Morhange, less and less at his ease, "that this man tells me there are similar inscriptions in several caverns in western Ahaggar. These caves are near the road that he has to take returning home. He must pass by Tit.
But his eyes became suddenly hard. Under the lustrous veil I saw his features stiffening. Morhange and I turned around. On the threshold of the cavern, breathless, discomfited, harassed by an hour of vain pursuit, Bou-Djema had returned to us. As Eg-Anteouen and Bou-Djema came face to face, I fancied that both the Targa and the Chaamba gave a sudden start which each immediately repressed.
Bou-Djema is a brave Chaamb who has at this moment only one idea, to appropriate the intestate capital represented by this camel in the stream." "Who gave that cry, then?" "Let us try, if you like, to explore up this stream that our guide is descending at such a rate." And without waiting for my answer he had already set out through the recently washed gullies of the rocky bank.
A pitiful long neck emerged from it with the heartrending cry of a beast in despair. "The fool," I cried, "he has let one of our beasts get loose, and the stream is carrying it away!" "You are mistaken," said Morhange. "Our camels are all in the cave. The one Bou-Djema is running after is not ours. And the cry of anguish we just heard, that was not Bou-Djema either.
"What did he say?" asked Morhange, who had seen the gesture. "Blad-el-Khouf. This is the country of fear. That is what the Arabs call Ahaggar." Bou-Djema went a little distance off and sat down, leaving us to our dinner. Squatting on his heels, he began to eat a few lettuce leaves that he had kept for his own meal. Eg-Anteouen was still motionless. Suddenly the Targa rose.
The sun in the west was no larger than a red brand. We saw Eg-Anteouen approach the fountain, spread his blue burnous on the ground and kneel upon it. "I did not suppose that the Tuareg were so observant of Mussulman tradition," said Morhange. "Nor I," I replied thoughtfully. But I had something to do at that moment besides making such speculations. "Bou-Djema," I called.
I realized that Morhange must be conversing with Eg-Anteouen about the famous inscriptions. But we were not so far behind that they could not have overheard our words. Again I looked at my guide. I saw that he was pale. "What is it, Bou-Djema?" I asked in a low voice. "Not here, Lieutenant, not here," he muttered. His teeth chattered. He added in a whisper: "Not here.
Word Of The Day