Water there was, a limpid pool, shaded by one great tree and a cluster of small ones, and seeping underground to bring life to a patch of grass. Sixty-one horses cropped the grass, and sixty-one Indians lazed about.
Though he knew where he was and who these men were, Ali felt as he had when spying on the Druse tribesmen. Even external differences between burnous-clad Druse and half-naked Indians did not set them so very far apart. If the Indians were not bent on raiding, there would be women and children among them. The expedition was the only prize worth the assembly of so many warriors. At present, they were idling away their time until a scout reported.
The scout appeared, as Ali was sure he would, from the direction in which the expedition was encamped. Ali waited for the scout to reach his companions. When he did and began his report, Ali returned to Ben Akbar. He rode first toward the camp, so that he was between the warriors and the expedition. Then he put Ben Akbar up a hill, but not quite over it. He wanted only to look down on the path taken by the scout and which, by all reason, should be the path of the warriors.
Presently they appeared, as Ali had prayed they would, and, obviously, the scout had reported well. In no hurry at all, it was clear that the Indians knew of the distress in camp. The time to take it was now, with most of the animals unfit, all of the men uncertain, and some so near the breaking point that a little more stress would break them. When the Indians were directly beneath him, Ali spoke to his mount. "Ho! Now!"
Ben Akbar shot over the crest and unhesitatingly did as Ali wished, he charged the mounted column. The leader, a fiercely painted young warrior whose thoughts were pleasantly filled with an easy conquest and ample loot, had time for only one good look before his horse took charge.
The panic spread like wind-driven fire in dry grass. Ali halted Ben Akbar and gave himself up to complete enjoyment, for indeed it was enjoyable. Sixty-one horses, as was customary with horses of America, took instant leave of their senses when confronted by a _dalul_ of Syria. For the first time since arriving in America, and the last, this was one unscheduled rodeo for which a camel would never be held to accounting.