"Sometimes my eyes are dimmed, Isabel Gazelle, and I can't see the signs and wonders, and I too become half alive. Sleep with your head on my arm, so I may waken and look into your face, and watch you breathe, and wonder at the mystery of life, and drift into sweet dreams."
It was morning before I knew it. The sounds of fuel gathering and firemaking were queerly muted; and when I went out to water Mariyah, I could not fail to see the sober mood into which all tlie men had fallen. The black-veiled Tuareg bowed to no man, but they laid their long, dark hands on my shoulder as I passed in reach, and the Beni Amer touched their foreheads when I went by. The white-veiled Tuareg groomed the bay mare until she shone in the sunlight, filled water casks, and sharpened the long points of twenty or more fire-hardened bamboo spears.
But when I looked anxiously at Jim, he gave me a big grin. His heavy trouble over the risk I must run had lightened in the night.
Takuba, walking about with his gray-bearded scribe, beckoned me to the kraal on the excuse of showing me a young and likely foal. After I had looked at her, the elder addressed me in fluent Arabic.
"Omar, I speak for my master, Takuba, or by his leave, out of the lore I have myself gathered in this bush for two score years."
"I am your protected," I answered.
"Five times in my years among the Beni Amer have they played this game. Once the two players who began it, ended it. On three occasions, fellow tribesmen took the place of the players who fell. In these three fights Tembu killed one, three, and five, all good riders and spearmen, before he fell. In the fifth race he killed eight, whereupon the Beni Amer gave up the hunt and returned to their tents, knowing that they had somehow angered the gods. It might be they would have never hunted so again if, on the following day, they had not found the body of the great man-killing Tembu, bearing four broken spears."
I thought of something—a hard problem—and could not at once reply.
"Now hear this truth of Tembu. He can run with great swiftness, but he can't overtake a horse on hard, open ground. So don't let him decoy you into heavy thicket, which he can break down like a landslide while you plunge in one place. His sight is dim, but his ears are great traps for the least whisper of sound. Fight the battle with all your might, and with a warrior's joy, but never cease to take care, or you'll not fight again."
He touched his hand to head and heart and fell silent. To my wonder, Takuba drew aside his veil a little way, so I could see his face. I did not know the full meaning of the gesture, but it cast a solemnity over all that the scribe had said.
As the men broke fast, a brief ceremony was performed that struck me as being far more important than their laughter would indicate. One of Takuba's slaves brought out on a tray a little cake of durra meal, and a bowl of cow's milk. At once Simba's close kinsmen, no doubt leaders of his tribe, took hold of him and brought him, he feigning reluctance, to the offering. Meanwhile the black-veiled Tuareg did the same to me, I, too, pretending to hang back. Then both of us broke off and ate a piece of the bread, and in turn drank from the bowl.
Of course the bread contained salt, and the sharing of the milk might have symbolized a closer brotherhood than that of war—even that we were brothers of the breast. One thing was certain—he would not desert me during the day's strife, and would not hesitate to risk his life in my behalf. Beyond any doubt, I would do the same for him.
Assembling to go into the bush, the black-veiled Tuareg cameleers took lithe ease on Takuba's horses. Jim rode a white gelding, and being truly black with grizzled hair, he made a fine appearance. When I swung up on a spare horse to rest Mariyah, I took a bamboo spear and dashed in front of our tent until I met Isabel's gaze, then lowered and raised its point in salute—an act of ceremony that made the Tuareg throw back their heads. In reply she made a little formal motion with her hand.
Our party made for a hill about five miles from the kraals, overlooking a brush-grown plain. As we were climbing it, I dropped back from beside Zoan to come abreast with Jim.
"Jim, if I'm killed, the Beni Amer will expect one of our men to take my place," I told him in English.
"1 was thinkin' about 'at," he answered.
"None of the Tuareg are horsemen, although they're good with spears. You've ridden the horse-of-tree, but not the four-legged kind for many years, and you're not a spearman either."
"When I was a young'n in 'Ginia, sometimes I rode out bosses for or Mas', but I wasn't no real hostler, and bless Jesus know I ain't never had one of 'em spears in my hand."
"Yet if I fall out, I think the Tuareg would give you the first chance to take my place. But they won't think less of you if you stand back— they know you're not a horseman—and anyway, they're not your judges. At a time like that, you'll judge yourself the best you can in the sight of God."
"If you fall out, Cap'n, I gwine take your place. I can't stop to figga whether it right or wrong, wise or foolish—I just gwine do it. We're the last two alive of all 'em who sailed on the Vindictive. Just like you'd spell me in a hard job, I'll spell you."
I nodded my head and rode on.
CHAPTER 18
Appointment in the Thorn
Atop a little hill, the sharp-eyed Beni Amer did not take long to spy elephants. Most of them were young bulls and cows, their ivories too small to be of worth; but away in flat-topped woods of stunted mimosa roved three big elephants, any of which looked fit for our first kill. Not only their heavy tusks, but their association, aloof from the herds, indicated that they had outlived their youth, and were evil-tempered hermits. The woods showed open, with no thick thorn, as favorable ground for the game as I could ask.
We rode toward them, and when no more than two furlongs down the wind, Simba and a companion made a circling dash for a better look at them. When he dropped back beside me, his black eyes were shining.
"I've rarely seen three finer bulls together," he told me. "It must be that they chose one another's company as might three champions in a host. The least of them, Tembu Sheik, is about two score and stands six and a half cubits. The middle one, Tembu Khan, is ten years older and a good seven cubits at the shoulder. The great one, Tembu Emir, has as great a frame as any Tembu I've ever seen, and if he were as massive as the others, would weigh forty gislas (seven tons). As it happens, he's gaunt as you are, which we know by now doesn't mean he's frail. Although three score and perhaps more, I believe he'll be fast as his own sons of thirty. Truly, he's so much like you in so many ways—you should see his lean face carved of rock —that we would have named him Tembu Omar, save it might have caused you to die in his place. His tusks are short but of exceeding weight—I'd guess them at four ngomas each (one hundred and eighty pounds). We believe he once fell into a pit and was raked with a sharp stake hardened in the fire, for he bears a great scar on his side—and didn't you fall into a pit when you were young? So if it's agreeable to you, we'll choose him for our quarry."
It would be more sensible to take the first one that came handy. To try to separate the giant from his vast companions would be to carry folly beyond all bounds. My brain knew it and told my thudding heart; still I would not, even if I could, interfere with the plan. I told myself I would lose face, but the real reason would be that I would break a spell. I did not know what had cast it over us all. I knew only that if once I began to count odds, to measure folly, to make compromises, and to alter rituals, I would find myself little and alone in the lap of terror. I was committed to a certain role in an antique drama of blood and death, the same as Jim was.