11. The Wilderness
The trail was rough, but Ben Akbar's saddle remained a veritable bedof feathers as the big _dalul_ continued at the same swift trot he hadstarted two hours ago. Ali turned in the saddle to look behind him.
There was nothing there, but neither was there anything ahead except thesame boulder-strewn, scrub-grown, sun-baked land that he saw when heglanced around. The place had no visible attractions, but it didfurnish reason anew to marvel at the vastness of America. Ali knew someself-contained nations, complete from Pasha to slaves, that were not aslarge as this forbidding corner of America wherein the entire expeditionwas presently lost.
Never jarring his rider, Ben Akbar continued without a noticeablevariation in gait. Ali turned back to face the west.
The anxiety that clouded his eyes deepened, but it was not for himselfthat he worried. As far as he personally was concerned, by far thehappiest days of his life began when the expedition left Zuni, west ofFort Defiance and the last settlement this side of California, on thethirty-first of August. That day, a lifelong dream finally came true.
Illiterate, Ali had developed skills vital to those who may never consultwritten records. When necessary to do so, he had only to close his eyesand see in memory a map of all the caravan routes he'd ever traveled. Itwas invariably in proper detail--the shortest route was never omitted andthe longest was never extended beyond correct proportions. Every mileof every trail was again as it had been when Ali went that way withthe camels.
For various reasons, some of those journeys had been very exciting. Butthis promised far more than any other trail Ali had traveled.
Wild and dangerous though they had been, and some still were, the cameltrails of Ali's native country were almost as ancient as the land itself.Caravans had certainly been traversing them since recorded history, andfable told of camels on the march long before any recording. Thus therehad never been even a faint possibility of doing anything that had notalready been done over and over, or of going anywhere not already visitedby multitudes.
This route must forever stand apart. Even though people had come thisway, with very few exceptions, they were wild as the wild beasts thatslunk from their path. Certainly there had never been a caravan, and forthat reason alone there must be the challenge of the mysterious andunknown. In addition, Ali found something else he'd never known before.
Here were no petty Amirs, with an endless array of petty decrees.Confining Camp Verde was far behind; there wasn't even a camel khan.Space was limitless, and freedom was restricted only by a need forcaution. Obviously, when at last one had all the room he needed forgrowing and roaming, he would not do a great deal of either if he fellprey to either the savages or the elements.
Ali knew that even this parched and barren country was not repulsive tohis eyes. He must consider it forbidding, or at least undesirable,because of its current threat to the expedition.
Fighting a sudden powerful notion that he had missed something and hadbetter turn around again, Ali looked steadfastly ahead. He hadn't missedanything and knew it, but he would anxiously grasp any straw as he nearedthe place where he must turn about and hope faded.
Largely because, in Ali's eyes, Lieutenant Beale's stature had long sinceexceeded that of any other man and was rapidly nearing heroic proportions,Ali could not blame his leader for the present dilemma. The signs had beenpresent; any man who had good camels should think seriously as to thewisdom of bringing horses and mules too into a land where water wasuncertain.
Ali was unable to blame his leader for anything, and, anyhow, the guidewas directly at fault. After leading the entire expedition astray--asyet nobody knew how far--the guide offered only a sheepish grin as anexcuse when he finally admitted choosing the wrong landmarks. He'drisked everyone's life but he'd never know, Ali thought, how close he'dcome to paying for his carelessness with his own life. Ali had beenwatching Lieutenant Beale's eyes when the guide confessed his error. Theguide had been looking at the ground.
Except for the strict rations allotted each man, they had run out ofwater shortly afterwards. The camels were in no trouble, but the horsesand mules were already frantic with thirst. Had Ali been in command, hewould have shot the horses and mules and gone on with camels only. ButAli was not in command, and because Lieutenant Beale wished to findwater for his suffering beasts, Ali could not wish otherwise. Eventhough they still had rations, some of the expedition's men were alreadyapprehensive.
The sun was almost at that point where Ali must turn Ben Akbar and goback. His heart grew heavier as it became increasingly evident that hewould have no news of water. Such failure was all the more gallingbecause he never doubted but that he'd been close to success.
There was no use in comparing this with his own country, since thisspecific problem could never arise there. All the water holes wereknown. A thirsty traveler who found one dry, simply went on toward thenext one. If he got there, he drank. If he did not, he died. However, itwas reasonable to suppose that some fundamental rules applied inAmerica, even as they did throughout the rest of the world.
Where there was water, there should be green foliage. Of course, he mustnot expect to find familiar date palms. There must be some other treesindigenous to this parched area, and any that received water would begreen, and any color at all in such drab surroundings would glow like acandle at midnight.
Reaching the place where he had been ordered to turn around, a reluctantAli halted Ben Akbar. For a moment he sat the saddle, searchingeverything still ahead and hoping desperately to see a splash of greenthat must mark an oasis. He saw only more desert. The last feeble sparkof hope almost flickered out.
Then, suddenly, it flared. Though Lieutenant Beale had told him when hemust return, he had not said that Ali must come back by the same route.Some distance to the south was a series of rocky ridges from whose crestsit would surely be possible to see much new country. Ali swung south.
With a much clearer understanding of the expedition's true purpose, Alilauded the wisdom that had prompted it. If some of this Southwest wasbleak and forbidding, some was as fine and rich as anything Ali had everseen. Villages and even cities might thrive here and there would stillbe ample grazing for flocks and herds.
Almost without exception, however, the few white men who had dared enterthe region cared for nothing except high adventure and possible riches,with high adventure accorded a definite priority. Far from taming thewilderness, they much preferred it untamed. Their opposites, who wouldbring settlement and civilization, must first be provided with somemeans of access. Though the wild men could live by their rifles and fromtheir saddlebags, families could not.
Following the 35th parallel, except wherever circumstance, such asterrain unsuited for wagons, made it wise to deviate from that line,the expedition was to lay out a wagon road between Fort Defiance andthe California border. Besides opening new country, the road wouldclose the final gap in a transcontinental highway.
Ali, who knew something about roads, had only unstinted admiration forthe course so far. That camels could travel it was not open to question,for camels were breaking the trail. Lieutenant Beale, however, waschoosing the route so carefully and with such skill that the heaviestand clumsiest wagons could hereafter follow where the camels led.
It was an admirable road, and the fact that the entire expedition waslost at the moment would be of no consequence if it were not for lackof water. Even that would be no more than a minor annoyance, exceptthat horses and mules must drink or find it impossible to go on.
Ali's hopes, that had burned brightly when he turned south to swingalong these ridges, flickered dimly as time passed and no oasis wassighted. The appointed rendezvous for this evening's camp--at least itwould be a rendezvous if the struggling mule teams were able to come sofar--was only a few miles ahead and night would fall soon. Ali put BenAkbar to a fast lope.
Suddenly he wheeled and rode back. He'd seen something--or thought hehad--for it was so faintly traced that he could not be sure. It wasw
orth a second look. Returning to the place where something had caughthis eye, Ali halted Ben Akbar, dismounted and knelt to study the ground.
He had seen something, but it was not to be wondered that he had almostpassed without seeing it. A small, unshod horse, traveling at a fasttrot, had passed this way within the hour and gone directly southeast.Ali frowned thoughtfully.
Every one of the expedition's horses was shod and none had so small ahoof. This animal was either separated from its companions and tryingto find them, or it carried a rider. Wandering horses do not travelfast and straight.
Ali rose and remounted Ben Akbar. Since the horse did not belong tothe expedition, obviously it was the property of someone else. Theonly human inhabitants of this forsaken waste were Indians. Thoughhe had seen nothing except the track of one horse, Ali knew the Druseand the brigands of the caravan routes too well, and had fought themtoo often, to shrug it off as meaningless. One Druse going somewherein a hurry could either be running from enemies or going to join somecompanions bent on raiding.
Since there was no indication of pursuit, obviously the Indian was notfleeing. But in Ali's opinion and experience, there was every reason tobelieve that any group of brigands anywhere would sack the expeditionif they could.
So a group of bandits were assembling for the purpose of attacking theexpedition. Or, Ali admitted, they were not assembling. He was certainonly that there was at least one horse in the area and equally certainthat there was water not too far away. The whole thing should properlybe reported to Lieutenant Beale, but Ali remained indecisive.
If Beale knew what Ali knew, he would most certainly insist on a personalinvestigation at the earliest moment. Never doubting that his chief was arenowned and experienced warrior, Beale was also one to rush in whereanything else feared to tread. Should one with so many distressing problemsalready on his mind be further burdened? Finally, and conclusively, theexpedition might do very well without Ali. It couldn't possibly succeedwithout Lieutenant Beale. Therefore, who should logically run the risk?There was only one choice.
Ben Akbar trotted into camp where the remaining camels were contentedlyfeeding on greasewood. Sied was among them. Lieutenant Beale, who hadalso scouted for water, must have returned. He proved to be one of thelittle group who stood watching the agonized approach of the mules.Nobody had found water; if they had, they would not appear so downcast.
Dismounting, Ali removed Ben Akbar's trappings and the big _dalul_joined the feeding herd. Ali turned toward the oncoming wagons.
Heads bent, tongues lolling, the mules swayed in their traces and movedat a slow crawl. When the wagons finally drew up, the mules remained asthey were when halted and did not so much as glance to one side or theother, even when stripped of their harnesses.
His mules unharnessed, but so nearly finished that they retained theirteam positions, the first driver went to his wagon and lifted down thewater keg. He turned to Lieutenant Beale and spoke in a husky whisper,"Nary a drop left. Must of sprung a leak and--"
The mules came alert with a frantic rush and were upon him in a wildscramble. Surrounding the driver, their eager grunts and harsh gaspingseemed the voice of madness itself as they fought each other for theprivilege of licking the dry keg's bung hole. Unable to look, thesoldiers turned away. Lieutenant Beale remained the leader.
"We can't move from here without water," he said quietly. "We'll tryagain tomorrow."
Ali offered, "I'll go again at dawn."
Beale continued to speak softly. "Any preferred direction?"
Ali gestured toward the horse track and Lieutenant Beale noddedpermission. "Be back by sundown."
It was so early that the dim gray light still made for uncertainobservation when Ali halted Ben Akbar and dismounted. He bent very nearthe earth, unable to see until he did so. The track was here, he had noterred. Leading Ben Akbar, he followed, slowly at first, then faster asthe strengthening light permitted. From the crest of one hill, he lookedover the top of another and finally saw what he so desperately wanted tosee.
It was the topmost branches of a full-leafed tree, and here, in thisplace of no color, it was startling as snow on a naked cliff.
Ali turned his mount and said softly, "Kneel."
The big _dalul_ knelt. Ali crawled forward. On the summit of the hillover which the tree top appeared, he crouched in a nest of boulders andverified his preconceived opinion that he would see more than water whenhe finally beheld the oasis.
Water there was, a limpid pool, shaded by one great tree and a clusterof small ones, and seeping underground to bring life to a patch ofgrass. Sixty-one horses cropped the grass, and sixty-one Indians lazedabout.
Though he knew where he was and who these men were, Ali felt as he hadwhen spying on the Druse tribesmen. Even external differences betweenburnous-clad Druse and half-naked Indians did not set them so very farapart. If the Indians were not bent on raiding, there would be womenand children among them. The expedition was the only prize worth theassembly of so many warriors. At present, they were idling away theirtime until a scout reported.
The scout appeared, as Ali was sure he would, from the direction inwhich the expedition was encamped. Ali waited for the scout to reach hiscompanions. When he did and began his report, Ali returned to Ben Akbar.He rode first toward the camp, so that he was between the warriors andthe expedition. Then he put Ben Akbar up a hill, but not quite over it.He wanted only to look down on the path taken by the scout and which, byall reason, should be the path of the warriors.
Presently they appeared, as Ali had prayed they would, and, obviously,the scout had reported well. In no hurry at all, it was clear that theIndians knew of the distress in camp. The time to take it was now, withmost of the animals unfit, all of the men uncertain, and some so nearthe breaking point that a little more stress would break them. When theIndians were directly beneath him, Ali spoke to his mount. "Ho! Now!"
Ben Akbar shot over the crest and unhesitatingly did as Ali wished, hecharged the mounted column. The leader, a fiercely painted young warriorwhose thoughts were pleasantly filled with an easy conquest and ampleloot, had time for only one good look before his horse took charge.
The panic spread like wind-driven fire in dry grass. Ali halted BenAkbar and gave himself up to complete enjoyment, for indeed it wasenjoyable. Sixty-one horses, as was customary with horses of America,took instant leave of their senses when confronted by a _dalul_ ofSyria. For the first time since arriving in America, and the last, thiswas one unscheduled rodeo for which a camel would never be held toaccounting.
Two hours later, bulging water bags tied wherever Ben Akbar's saddleoffered a buckle or knob to tie one, and two more over his shoulders,Ali rode back into camp. He halted near Lieutenant Beale, who had justcome in on Sied, and grinned amiably as teamsters snatched at his loadand ran to their parched animals.
When he and Ali were alone, Lieutenant Beale asked, "How did you locateit, Ali?"
"First," Ali said, "I saw a green tree."
"What next?"
"Then I saw some Indians," Ali reported, "but they all ran away and arenot at the water now. We may go take as much as we need."