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  2. Fugitive

  The picketed camels, that never saw any reason to give way toexcitement just because humans did, shuffled their feet, grunted andwent on munching fodder. His warning voiced, the young _dalul_ remainedsilent. He would waste no more breath on threats or further warnings;just let any man who came near enough look to his own safety! His verysilence had all the lethal promise of a poised, unsheathed dagger!

  Ali said, "I hear, oh lord of all _dalul_, and I understand. But behold,I free you!"

  He spoke calmly, and there was no fear to be detected by the youngcamel because there was none in Ali. This young camel driver, who hadseen the shadow of death, or heard death whisper, as frequently as didall those who ventured forth on the lonely caravan routes, now assuredhimself that he was not necessarily looking upon a forbidding being inthis tortured camel. But, be that as it may, he must take the chance.The incurably ill, the weary old, the oppressed, the mistreated, knew nofriend more kind than Ali.

  However, though he talked slowly and softly, he moved swiftly as aleaping panther while he cut the first rope and went at once to thesecond. The Druse camp was silent, and had been since that first shoutedalarm, but it was alert and the Druse were no fools. Certainly theywould know better than to come yelling and leaping, brandishing weaponsand mouthing threats.

  Far more probable, Ali wouldn't even know an enemy was within strikingdistance until he saw--or felt--the pointed dagger that was seeking hisheart or heard the swish of a descending sword. Then, if Allah sodecreed, one less camel driver would return to the caravan routes.

  As he cut the remaining ropes, Ali continued to speak soothingly to theyoung _dalul_. Far from nervous, or even slightly excited, the youngrescuer was almost serenely calm. Death would certainly be his portionif the Druse had their way, and, of course, there was also a goodchance that he would die if he liberated the young _dalul_. But somedeaths are much sweeter than others.

  It would be far easier, and more honorable, to die under the tramplingfeet of a good Moslem _dalul_ than under the sword or dagger of aheathen Druse. Besides, even though the _dalul_ first killed Ali, thereremained the satisfactory probability that he would then turn upon andkill one or more of the villains.

  Ali cut the final rope, the one about the _dalul's_ neck, and waitedcalmly. He lowered the hand holding the dagger. He'd have sheathed theweapon, except that one or more of the Druse might be upon him at anymoment and a dagger would be a convenient article to have in hand. ButAli had no intention of fighting the _dalul_, or even of resistingshould it attack him.

  He said calmly, "You are free, brother."

  Not accustomed to freedom after standing so long bound by crampingropes, the _dalul_ shook his head and stamped his forefoot. Then he gavetwo prodigious sidewise leaps toward the picketed baggage camels androared.

  The baggage camels crowded very close together, as though for thecomfort each found in the others, when the _dalul_ leaped. His roarrobbed them of common sense, so that they began a wild plunging. Evenbetter than Ali, the baggage camels knew the _dalul's_ quality. They'dhave broken their tethers and stampeded had not some of the Druse takennote of the situation and rushed in to quiet the terrified beasts.

  For the first time, Ali had a few fleeting moments to wonder why hestill lived. It had seemed inevitable that, if the Druse did not killhim, the _dalul_ most certainly would. Perhaps, during the torturedhours it had stood as captive, it had marked its enemies and knew Aliwas not among them. More probable, Ali's gift, his ability tounderstand and be understood by all camels, had proved itself onceagain.

  Ali shrugged. He didn't know, and probably never would know, just whythe _dalul_ had not killed him the instant it was free. But Allah knew,and it was not for Ali to question or even wonder about His judgments.

  Ali's business was camels. He decided that it was high time he took hisbusiness in hand and called the _dalul_.

  It responded, but before coming all the way to Ali, it stopped twice tobestow a long, lingering and disappointed look upon the camp of theDruse. Raging, but bound and helpless, the _dalul_ had promised hiscaptors a battle as soon as he was free. The challenge still stood, and,even though the Druse were not accepting, the situation rebounded toAli's benefit. While the _dalul_ roamed the camp, the enemy dared notmove freely, and Ali's peril was correspondingly less.

  After his second inspection of the enemy camp, the _dalul_ did not stopagain or even look about him but continued straight to Ali. He halted afew steps away and grunted a little camel song. Then he extended hislong neck and lightly laid his head on his rescuer's shoulder. Aliembraced the great head with both arms and pressed his cheek close tothe _dalul's_ neck.

  "Mighty one!" he crooned. "Peerless one! Where is a name worthy of suchas you?"

  The Druse were continuing the hunt, and when and if they found Ali,they'd be overjoyed to kill him as dead as possible in the shortestnecessary time. But creeping into an armed Druse camp, his only weaponsa dagger and courage, was one matter. Waiting beside the young _dalul_,whom the Druse had every reason to fear, was quite another. Again Aliaddressed the young stallion.

  "Sun of cameldom! Jewel of the caravan routes! By what title may you becalled so that, wherever you may venture, all men shall know your deedswhen you are called by name?"

  The young _dalul_--and if he had the faintest interest in the name Alior anyone else might bestow, there was no indication of that--took hishead from Ali's shoulder to sniff his hand. Obviously, it was high timefor Ali to seek divine assistance in determining a name for the _dalul_,and it would not come amiss to indicate that haste was in order. EvenDruse tribesmen, knowing Ali was in camp but failing to find him, mustsooner or later deduce that he was with the _dalul_.

  Ali faced Mecca. He began his supplication with the customary "_Allahuakbar_--God is most great." He ended it at precisely the same place,more than a little overwhelmed by the speed with which Allah may respondto even the least of His worshipers. Ali had scarcely started when heknew the name he sought. He whirled to the _dalul_.

  "From this moment you shall be known as Ben Akbar!" he declaredhappily. "Ben Akbar!"

  Transcending mere perfection, the name was a stroke of genius. BenAkbar, the unequaled, the peerless, the greatest _dalul_ of any. Nomatter how hard they racked their own brains, regardless of the mastersof rhetoric they might consult, no camel rider anywhere would ever hitupon a name that described his favorite in terms more superlative.

  Now that Ben Akbar bore the only name that truly conformed to hisdignity and power, Ali turned his thoughts to affairs of the moment.

  His entry into the Druse camp, audacious though it had been, never wouldhave created other than momentary alarm. Freeing Ben Akbar, a confirmedkiller camel in the mind of every Druse, gave a wholly different meaningto the entire affair. The least of the raiders would happily prowl thecamp in search of Ali. But while darkness held sway, not even the bestof them cared to chance an encounter with Ben Akbar.

  In addition, or so the Druse would think, killer camels made nodistinction among Moslems, Christians, Jews, or men of any other faith.They killed whomsoever they were able to catch. Since Ali had been nearenough to cut the _dalul's_ bindings, it followed that the killer camelhad been able to catch him.

  Regardless of anything the Druse thought at the moment, Ali knew thatthey would not continue to remain deceived after sunrise. The signs,the tracks, would be there for them to read, and few desert dwellersread signs more skillfully. Despite anything their minds told them,their eyes would leave no doubt that Ali and the _dalul_ had gone awaytogether.

  For a brief interval, Ali speculated concerning the inscrutable ways ofAllah, who had bestowed upon the Druse tribesmen a maximum of ferocityand a minimum of common sense. Obviously, it was his duty to takecertain most urgent action if he would live to greet another sunset.

  At night, the Druse would have no stomach for attacking, or even comingnear, Ben Akbar. As soon as a new day brought light enough so they couldsee, they'd never h
esitate. If Ali happened to be near Ben Akbar, wherehe had every intention of being, he'd be found.

  Ali said softly, "We go, brother." With Ben Akbar pacing contentedly athis shoulder, he faded into the darkness.

  Although Ali wanted to go south, where he thought he'd have the bestchance of meeting the great _Hadj_, and the gulley in which the Drusewere camped ran almost directly north-south, he did not go down thatgulley. There was at least one enemy outpost stationed there--andpossibly more.

  Ali climbed the ridge, retracing almost exactly the path he'd followedwhen he came to the rescue of Ben Akbar. Rather than stop when hegained the summit, he went on down into the next gulley and climbed thefollowing ridge. On the summit of that, he finally halted. Ben Akbar,who sported neither tether rope nor rein but who was amiably willing towalk behind Ali where the path was narrow and beside him where spacepermitted, came up from behind and thrust his long neck over hisfriend's shoulder. Ali reached up to caress the mighty head.

  The baggage animals he'd seen in the Druse camp were just that,ponderous beasts, bred to carry six hundred or more pounds a distance oftwenty-five miles at a stretch and to bear this enormous burden dayafter day. Under ordinary circumstances, they'd be no match for the_dalul_, but Ben Akbar was more than just tired and hungry. An hour ofthe torment he'd endured was enough to sap more strength than an entireday on the trail. His hump, that unfailing barometer of a camel'scondition, was half the size it should have been. There was no way oftelling when he'd had his last drink of water.

  This last, Ali told himself, was of the utmost importance. Every urchinon every caravan route knows that camels store water in their ownbodies, and that it is entirely possible for some seasoned veterans ofthe caravan trails to plod on, though at an increasingly slower pace,for three, four, or even five days without any water save that whichthey absorb from their fodder. But those are the exceptions. As noted,given an opportunity, camels will drink as much and as frequently as anycreature of similar size, and a thirsty camel is handicapped.

  So, although Ali might have laughed in their faces had Ben Akbar beenrested and well-nourished, the Druse, who would most certainly be ontheir trail the instant it was light enough to see, had more than a goodchance of overtaking them before nightfall. But before Ali could concernhimself with the Druse, there was something he must do.

  "Kneel!" he commanded.

  Ben Akbar knelt, settling himself with surprising grace. Ali mounted.Though there was no riding saddle, he seated himself where it shouldhave been and placed his feet properly, one on either side of the baseof Ben Akbar's neck. There was no rein either, but the finest of the_dalul_ were carefully schooled to obey the spoken word without regardto rein. Ali gave the command to rise, then bade Ben Akbar go.

  Ben Akbar's gait was as gentle as the evening wind that ruffles thenew-sprouted fronds of young date palms. Ali sent him to the right, thenthe left, relying on spoken commands alone and getting a response soperfect that there'd have been no need of a rein, even if the _dalul_wore one. Ali no longer had reason to wonder if Ben Akbar was theproperty of a rich man. None except the wealthy could afford the feesdemanded by riding masters who knew the secret of teaching a camel toobey spoken orders.

  Though he knew he should not, Ali ordered Ben Akbar to run. The camelobeyed instantly, yet so imperceptible was the change in pace, and sorhythmically smooth was his run, that he had attained almost full speedbefore his rider realized that the change had been made.

  Ali sat unmoving, letting the wind fan his cheeks and reveling in thisride as he had delighted in nothing else he could remember. The gait ofriding camels varies as much as that of riding horses, but Ben Akbarstood alone. Rather than landing with spine-jarring thuds as he racedon, his feet seemed not even to touch the earth.

  Ali had never ridden a smoother-gaited camel...but suddenly it occurredto him that the ride had better end. Bidding his mount halt, Ali slid tothe ground and went around to where he could pet Ben Akbar's nose.

  "You are swift as the wind itself, and the back of the downiest bird isa bed of stones and thorns compared with the back of Ben Akbar," hestated. "But it is not now that you should run."

  Ben Akbar sniffed Ali gravely and blew through his nostrils. Aliresponded, as though he were answering a question.

  "The Druse," he explained, "tonight they are helpless, for even if theywould follow, they cannot see our path in the darkness. But rest assuredthat they shall be upon our trail with the first light of morning andthey know well how to get the most speed from their baggage beasts. Ifyou were rested and nourished, I would laugh at a dozen--nay!--athousand such! But you are weary and ill-cared-for, so tonight we mustspare your strength. Tomorrow, you may have to run away from the Druse!"

  * * * * *

  The next day was two hours old, and Ali and Ben Akbar were still walkingsouth, when Ali glanced about and saw the mounted Druse sweep over ahillock.

  At the same instant, they saw him and raced full speed to the kill.

  Hearing, scenting or sensing pursuit, Ben Akbar swung all the wayaround. He was very quiet, an indication that he would look to and obeyAli. But there was about him a complete lack of nervousness, plus acertain quality in the way he faced enemies, rather than turned fromthem, that betrayed a war camel. He would flee from the Druse, if thatwere Ali's wish, but he would run just as eagerly and just as swiftlytoward them, should Ali decide to attack.

  Nervous, but controlling himself, Ali counted the Druse as they raceddown the hill. There were twenty-three, three more than had been in camplast night, therefore some must have arrived after he left. They werenot the organized unit they would have been if they expected formidableresistance. Since there was only one man to kill, and every Druse burnedto kill him, they came in wild disorder, with those on the swiftestcamels leading.

  Though the charge was only seconds old, three of the Druse had alreadydrawn ahead of the rest. A glance told Ali that all three were mountedon _dalul_. Since there had been no riding camels in the Druse camp,obviously these were the three newcomers who had arrived during thenight. The rest were all mounted on baggage camels.

  Because he had had a whole night's start, and the pursuing Druse shouldhave been hampered by the necessity for working out his trail, Ali hadnot expected them before midday. Something had gone amiss. Possibly,during the night, Ali and Ben Akbar had passed another outpost that theyhad not seen, but that had managed both to shadow them and to send wordback to the camp. Perhaps the outpost had even consisted of the threeriders of _dalul_.

  Ali concentrated on the three _dalul_. All were good beasts, but nonewere outstanding, and, in an even contest, none could have come near tomatching Ben Akbar's speed. No, however--

  Ali turned to Ben Akbar and said gently, "Kneel."

  Ben Akbar obeyed. Ali mounted and gave the command to rise, then torun. He unsheathed the dagger and held it in his hand. The Druse werearmed with guns, which they knew how to use, but there were good reasonswhy they would hesitate to shoot one lone man. In the first place,powder and shot were expensive and to be used only when nothing elsesufficed. In the second, when the odds were twenty-three to one, theDruse who shot when he might have killed his enemy with sword or daggermust lose face as a warrior.

  The dagger in his hand was Ali's only concession to the possibility thathe might be overtaken. When and if he was, might Allah frown if at leastone of the Druse did not join his ancestors before Ali did likewise.

  Other than that, the race was not unpleasant. Weary though he was, thepower and strength that Ali had seen in Ben Akbar when the young _dalul_stood captive in the Druse camp were manifest now. Ben Akbar flowedalong, seeming to do so almost without effort, and Ali thought withwonder of the magnificent creature this _dalul_ would be when properlyfed and rested. Only when Ben Akbar stumbled where he should have run onwas his rider recalled to the grim realities of the situation.

  He did not have to look behind him because he knew what lay there.Having been detec
ted when they appeared over the crest of the farhillock, the Druse must still descend it, cross the gulley and climb theopposite hill before they could be where Ali had been when they saw him.Though they must know that Ben Akbar was not in condition to run hisbest, they certainly knew the quality of such a camel. Looking from thecrest of the hill upon which Ali had been sighted and seeing nothing,they could by no means be certain that camel and rider had not alreadygone out of sight on the hill beyond. A terrified fugitive wouldlogically run in a straight line.

  A third of the way down the hill, Ali gave Ben Akbar the command to turnleft. He was about three hundred yards from the floor of the gulley andthe same distance from its head, where a thick copse of mingled Aleppopine and scrub brush offered more than enough cover to hide a wholecaravan. Reaching the thicket, Ali halted Ben Akbar and dismounted. Thenhe turned and waited for the Druse to appear.

  Led by the three riders of _dalul_, they broke over the crest at theexact spot where Ali had been sighted. They did exactly as he had hopedthey would and raced straight on. A smile of satisfaction flitted acrossAli's lips as the advance riders swept past that place where he hadturned Ben Akbar.

  Then something went amiss.

  Though the three _dalul_ had seemed equally matched, one now led theother two by some ten yards. Reaching the gulley's floor, the leadingrider halted his mount, swung him abruptly and shouted, "He has goneanother way!"

  As the truth forced itself on Ali, his first thought was that the riderof the leading _dalul_ must be a very giant among the Druse.

  Noted trackers, most Druse would have some trouble trailing a singlecamel on a sun-baked desert. But, incredible though it seemed, theleading pursuer had been tracking Ali while riding at full speed. He hadraced on because he had thought exactly what Ali hoped he would--thatAli and Ben Akbar were already out of sight behind the next hill. But hehad stopped when he no longer saw tracks.

  While the two remaining riders of _dalul_ swung unquestioningly inbehind him, and the Druse mounted on baggage camels halted wherever theyhappened to be, the tracker trotted his _dalul_ back up the hill. Hiseyes were fixed on the ground as he sought to pick up the trail he hadlost.

  With Ben Akbar behind him, Ali stole through the thicket toward the farend. He clutched the dagger tightly. He would mount and ride when he wasclear of the thicket; nobody could ride a camel through such a place.But it was questionable as to how long he'd ride with such a tracker onhis trail.

  Ali was almost out of the thicket when a man who swung a wicked-lookingscimitar seemed to rise from the earth and bar his path. Ali gazed uponthe countenance of an old acquaintance.

  The man was a Druse that Ali knew as The Jackal!