52 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



of pursuit and of being recognised. Yusuf joined his 

 hands in prayer. "We will say you are the wife of an 

 ekhwan," he said, "and that we are taking you to 

 Jalo," but he pleaded in vain. We moved on and they 

 followed perforce, surly, bronzed Beduins in coarse 

 woolen jerds, rifles slung across their backs. 



The impressions cherished since childhood are grad- 

 ually disappearing from my mind. One hears so often 

 of the untiring endurance of the Beduin and of his 

 frugal fare. I used to beheve that he could ride for days 

 without sleep and live on a few dates or locusts. He 

 may be able to do the latter if he is absolutely obliged 

 to, but normally his appetite is large and his amiability 

 depends on his food. With regard to his endurance, I 

 have met Tuaregs who had accomplished some amazingly 

 swift rides, but in the French Sahara, in Syria or in 

 Libya, as in the Sudan, ll have never found an Arab i 

 who did not want to camp several hours before I did J \ 

 South of Touggurt I once had a delightful guide called 

 Ali, a blue-eyed, ruddy-haired Tuareg, who must have 

 had Vandal blood in his veins and he used to get posi- 

 tively haggard after a nine hours' ride without a pause. 



After 2.30 we could not urge our retinue farther. 

 It was obvious that they were very tired, but it is 

 doubtful if they were as exhausted as we were, for we 

 had worked very hard the preceding day and night, 

 w^hile they were "fadhling" in the suq. However, Yusuf 

 seized my camel rein. "This is a good place. We 

 must rest," he said. It was no use exasperating them. 

 We had ridden for six hours. A camel does a regular 

 two and a half miles an hour, so we imagined ourselves 

 about 15 miles from Jedabia and safe from pursuit. 



Almost before we had got the sacks off the camels 

 Mohammed had rolled himself in his jerd and was 

 actually asleep. Yusuf helped us half-heartedly while we 



