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Updated: June 5, 2025
The last words of poor Bou-Djema came to my mind. "The country of fear," I murmured in a low voice. And Morhange repeated: "The country of fear." The strange concert ceased as the first stars appeared in the sky. With deep emotion we watched the tiny bluish flames appear, one after another.
"A path, a stairway in the wall," I screamed against the wind to my companions. "If we don't find one in a minute we are lost." They did not hear me, but, turning in my saddle, I saw that they had lost no distance, Morhange following me, and Bou-Djema in the rear driving the two baggage camels masterfully before him. A blinding streak of lightning rent the obscurity.
I was amusing myself a little. Pardon me." Just then the girth of one of the baggage camels, evidently not well fastened, came loose. Part of the load slipped and fell to the ground. Eg-Anteouen descended instantly from his beast and helped Bou-Djema repair the damage. When they had finished, I made my mehari walk beside Bou-Djema's. "It will be better to resaddle the camels at the next stop.
With harsh cries a flock of wild geese appeared, flying low. They came out of the west. "They are fleeing towards the Sebkha d'Amanghor," said Bou-Djema. There could be no greater mistake, I thought. Morhange looked at me curiously. "What must we do?" he asked. "Mount our camels immediately, before they are completely demoralized, and hurry to find shelter in some high places.
"Afahlehle," the Targa repeated, and shook his head. Bou-Djema died in the middle of the night without having regained consciousness. "It is curious," said Morhange, "to see how our expedition, uneventful since we left Ouargla, is now becoming exciting." He said this after kneeling for a moment in prayer before the painfully dug grave in which we had lain the guide. I do not believe in God.
"When the legs of the mohor tremble it is because the firmament is shaken," he muttered. "A storm?" "Yes, a storm." "And you find that alarming?" I did not answer immediately. I was exchanging several brief words with Bou-Djema, who was occupied in soothing the camels which were giving signs of being restive. Morhange repeated his question. I shrugged my shoulders. "Alarming? I don't know.
Already the blue smoke of the fire on which Bou-Djema was cooking dinner rose through the motionless air. Not a sound, not a breath. The smoke mounted straight, straight and slowly up the pale steps of the firmament. "Have you ever heard of the Atlas of Christianity?" asked Morhange. "I think so.
With one accord we decided to spend the night there, before undertaking the mountain. There was a spring, in a dark basin, from which fell a little cascade; there were a few shrubs, a few plants. Already the camels were browsing at the length of their tethers. Bou-Djema arranged our camp dinner service of tin cups and plates on a great flat stone.
"By Ahaggar," he murmured. "But...." "But what?" "I do not know the road." "Eg-Anteouen is going to guide us." "Eg-Anteouen!" I watched Bou-Djema as he made this suppressed ejaculation. His eyes were fixed on the Targa with a mixture of stupor and fright. Eg-Anteouen's camel was a dozen yards ahead of us, side by side with Morhange's. The two men were talking.
But what at the first glance overwhelmed us with astonishment was to see Bou-Djema, usually so calm, at this moment apparently beside himself with frenzy, bounding through the gullies and over the rocks of the ledge, in full pursuit of the shipwreck. Of a sudden I seized Morhange by the arm. The grayish thing was alive.
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