They had saved the scant food and water of the drivers, also their
clothing, slippers, daggers, long rifles, and ammunition.
Now, dressed like Arabs--the best of all disguises in case of being
sighted by pursuers or by wandering Black Tent tribes, from far
off--they were trekking westward again, riding four of the camels and
leading the others.
For a week of Hell the failing beasts, already half dead of thirst
when captured, bore them steadily south-west, toward the coast. Twice
there rose spirals of smoke, in the desert distances; but whether
these were from El Barr pursuers or were merely Bedouin encampments
they could not tell.
Merciless goading kept the camels going till they dropped dead, one by
one.
By the end of the fourth day only three remained. Lebon methodically
cut up every one that perished, for water, but found none in any
stomach.
The fugitives sighted no oasis. They found no wady other than
stone-dry. By day they slept, by night pushed forward. Day by day
they grew weaker and less rational. The increasing nerve-strain that
possessed them was companioned by the excruciating torture of their
bodies racked by the swaying jolt of camel-riding.
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