: Sarah of the Sahara: A Romance of Nomads Land by Chappell George S George Shepard - Adventure stories; Man-woman relationships Fiction; Egypt Fiction; Explorers Fiction; Sahara Fiction; Burlesque (Literature)

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eer Traprock luck, for he was the very man I wanted, capable, resourceful and devoted.

Over a glass of coffee on the terrace of the Di Baccho I explained my needs.

Dipping his fore-finger in the coffee he drew an excellent likeness of Africa on the tablecloth.

"We will enter here at Rascora on the very western edge of the desert. You can go round by water: I will meet you there with the camels. Thus we will go through the desert the long way. You will miss nothing. You are looking for something, eh?"

I hesitated, but he burst out laughing.

"A woman! Aha, my friend. You have not changed since I met you in Skutari! You devil!"

Drawing back from the table in order to give himself room to shake he trembled like a mountain of jelly until a glance at his wrist-watch told him it was the evening hour for worship. He could not kneel but turned his chair toward Mecca and performed the orthodox calisthenics in a sketchy but satisfactory manner.

Personally I was more than willing to let him have his laugh in exchange for having secured his services. Matters of detail could now be dismissed. At dawn the next day I weighed anchor for Tangier and points west, slipping rapidly down the Moroccan coast with short stops at Mogador, Rio de Oro and, finally, Rascora.

Rapid though the trip was it took the better part of a fortnight allowing Ab-Domen no more than time to assemble our caravan. During the interval I took up the re-study of the desert languages, Berber, Arabic, Bedouin and the main Sudanese dialects all of which I had fairly well mastered before we rounded the gleaming cliffs of Cape Blanco. I also gave considerable time to exercising myself in the florid style of speech without which no Sheik is really a Sheik. During these periods of study I would stand near the capstan and apostrophize my lost lady in the most poetic terms.

"O thou! beautiful as the dawn and rounded as the bursting lotus-bud whose voice is as the cooing of a dove calling gently to its mate, lo, from afar I come to thee."

These proceedings astonished the crew. In fact I overheard Captain Triplett say to Whinney, "The old man is cuckoo," to which the flippant first-officer replied, "You gushed a geyser." I had to reprimand them both severely.

Another exercise to which I devoted considerable time was the practising of that stern, aloof mien which is the proper Sheik-ish attitude. This was very hard for me for my nature is genial. However no one ever heard of anyone clapping one of these portentous Arabs on the shoulder with a "Hello, Sheik; how's tricks." That sort of thing would mean death according to modern literary standards and I endeavored to convey this idea to my companions whenever they were familiar which was always. I almost precipitated a row when I said one day to Whinney, "Peace, thou ill-begotten son of a base-born mule-driver."... He seized a belaying pin with the light of mayhem in his eyes and I had great difficulty in explaining the purely figurative meaning of my words.

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