ON A WATERLESS WAY 141 



to support the panniered luggage. We ate a tin of 

 spinach because it was wet, but it was a hollow-eyed 

 procession that started due east along the "hatia" in 

 the hope of hitting one of the wells in the neighbourhood 

 of Zieghen. Abdullah had held out many hopes the 

 night before, but now all he would say was "Inshallah!" 

 We left El Atash at 7.30 and toiled laboriously round 

 the small mounds which looked so oddly like graves. 

 Three green ones gave the camels a little respite, but 

 there was no sign of the "gherds" (dunes) that generally 

 mark the presence of water. The whole retinue spread 

 out in a straggling line across the horizon, marching east, 

 and every faint rise was passionately scanned and dis- 

 cussed. At last Mohammed said, "If you cut my throat 

 now you will not find one drop of blood," referring to 

 the Arab idea that when a man is in fear of death all 

 the blood in his body rushes to his head. "It is time 

 that Sidi Abdullah dies," said Farraj firmly, his finger on 

 the trigger, and then, of course, the unexpected, the im- 

 possible, happened, and a faint dark blur appeared on 

 the horizon. 



I have no recollection at all of the next two hours. 

 Whether I walked or rode or ran I do not know. What 

 happened to the others I have no idea. My whole being 

 was concentrated on those green mounds, which con- 

 tinually vanished and reappeared until at last they con- 

 solidated at 2.30 P.M. into a few clustered palms and some 

 "gherds" covered with stubble. I remember tottering 

 down a hollow and seeing some nude black figures madly 

 scooping up sand, and then a silent little group crouched 

 pitifully on the edge of the freshly dug pit that meant 

 life or death. The water came very slowly, for they had 

 chosen a bad place in their hurry, but it came. Oozing 

 through damp sand, the first muddy pool brought aU the 

 primitive emotions to our hearts — joy, relief, gratitude, 



