Somehow, Dick felt that
he had stumbled on to the truth. Though tingling with excitement, he
managed to control his voice.
"You say it is four marches from here to the sea?" he asked.
"Five, Effendi. There are four wells, but each is thirty or thirty-five
kilometers from the other. At one time, I have been told, many
_kafilas_ came that way, but the trade was killed by goods being
carried in ships to other points, while it is recorded among my people
that the curse of Allah fell on the land, and blighted it, and the
trees died, and the streams dried up, until it became as you now see
it."
Dick lit a fresh, cigarette, and blew a great cloud of smoke before his
eyes, lest the observant Arab should read the thoughts that made them
glisten.
"Let us suppose," he said slowly, "that Fenshawe Effendi decided to
make for the sea by that shorter road, there would be no difficulty in
doing it?"
"Difficulty !" re-echoed the sheikh, "it might cost us many lives. A
few men, leading spare camels with water-bags, might get through in
safety, but it would be madness to attempt it with a big caravan.
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