He rode a fine
horse and kept usually at the head of the caravan. But now and again
he went up and down, seeing to things. Then there was talking, loud
or low, between the head man and units of the march.
Starting from its home city, this caravan had been for two days in
good spirits. Then had become to creep in disaster, not excessive, but
persistent. One thing and another befell, and at last a stealing
sickness, none knew what, attacking both beast and man. They had made
the town at the edge of the desert. Physicians were found and rest
taken. Recuperation and trading proceeded amicably together. The day
of departure wheeling round, the noontide prayer was made with an
especial fervor and attention. Then from the _caravanserai_ forth
stepped the camels.
The sun descending, the caravan threw a giant shadow upon the sand.
Ridge and wave of sterile earth broke it, confused it, made it an
unintelligible, ragged, moving, and monstrous shade. The sun was red
and huge. As it lowered to the desert rim Zeyn al-Din gave the order
for the seven-hour halt. The orb touched the sand; prayer carpets were
spread.
Night of stars unnumbered, the ineffable tent, arched the desert. The
caravan, a small thing in the world, lay at rest. The meal was over.
Here was coolness after heat, repose after toil. The fires that had
been kindled from scrub and waste lessened, died away.
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