188 THE SECRET OF SAHARA: KUFARA 



dark-faced guide, the cringing commandant, ceased to 

 exist. Hassanein called for a donkey for our messenger 

 and pushed the cleverly worded letter into his wallet. 

 Then for a moment Mohammed and I were face to face, 

 and I looked straight into his keen, boyish eyes, wringing 

 his hand with a few words of intense confidence and knew 

 instantly that he would not, could not, fail us! 



Thereafter it did not matter that we could not 

 leave the camp, that Abdullah's face was thunderous, 

 that the soldiers hid in their tents with the exception of 

 the large, faithful Farraj, who offered me pathetic little 

 gifts every hour to cheer me up, raw onions, parsnips 

 and dry cut grass which makes a kind of liquid 

 spinach! I had to pretend to be ill and lie on my bed all 

 day behind the harem curtain to escape the distrustful 

 Zouias, who peered into the tent every two or three 

 minutes to see that we had not escaped. It was a dis- 

 tinctly trying time, for angry councils were held at 

 intervals outside the camp, but we were not invited to 

 attend them and the friendly Tebus were absent, though 

 once a bronze maiden with wide brown eyes, a cheery 

 smile and a large white pea-nut stuck in a hole in her 

 nostril, crept to my guarded quarters and offered me 

 four eggs with many kindly "Keif halak." 



In the sunset came Mohammed, smiling, triumphant, 

 breathless, having ridden 20 kilometres to Taj over 

 a strange country he had never seen before, without track 

 or guiding mark, argued with a justly suspicious kaima- 

 kaan anxious to defend the prestige of his princes, con- 

 vinced him of our good faith, learned the whole story of 

 Abdullah's treachery, remounted his white donkey and 

 plodded back over the rough sands to our rescue — all in 

 eight hours. Certainly Mohammed justified that day my 

 long-established faith in the Beduin race and their future. 

 He brought a letter of enthusiastic welcome to "their 



