Mustapha joined in with groans and
lamentations.
When the father and son grew calmer, they began to discuss their
situation. Ahmed knew of a small unfrequented oasis, about twenty miles
away. It was their only chance of safety, but could they reach it?
"I _think_ I can walk," declared Mustapha, tying up his wounded leg in a
fold torn from his turban. But he limped sadly, and his tightly pressed
lips showed pain as he moved. He was faint with hunger beside. Neither
of the men had eaten since sunrise.
Suddenly Mustapha uttered a joyful cry, and lifted something from the
earth.
"The Prophet be praised!" he cried. "My father, here is food. The
robbers have dropped a bag of dates."
Sure enough, there it lay, a heavy bag of dates, shaken off from some
camel's pack during the struggle. Heavy as it was, and hard to carry,
Ahmed would fain have had it larger. It was their safety from
starvation. A handful of its contents satisfied hunger, and gave them
strength to begin their walk. What a walk it was! Poor Mustapha lay
down every half-hour from pain and weakness; the sand was heavy, the
darkness puzzled them.
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