which you have just come."

"Be still, Cegheir-ben-Cheikh," said the trembling voice of
Tanit-Zerga.

"Be still yourself, miserable little fly," said Cegheir-ben-Cheikh.

He sneered.

"The little one is afraid because she knows that I tell the truth. She
knows the story of Lieutenant Ghiberti."

"Lieutenant Ghiberti?" I said, the sweat standing out on my forehead.

"He was an Italian officer whom I met between Rhat and Rhadames eight
years ago. He did not believe that love of Antinea could make him
forget all else that life contained. He tried to escape, and he
succeeded. I do not know how, for I did not help him. He went back to
his country. But hear what happened: two years later, to the very day,
when I was leaving the look-out, I discovered a miserable tattered
creature, half dead from hunger and fatigue, searching in vain for the
entrance to the northern barrier. It was Lieutenant Ghiberti, come
back. He fills niche Number 39 in the red marble hall."

The Targa smiled slightly.

"That is the story of Lieutenant Ghiberti which you wished to hear.
But enough of this. Mount your camel."

I obeyed without saying a word. Tanit-Zerga, seated behind me, put
her little arms around me. Cegheir-ben-Cheikh was still holding the
bridle.

"One word more," he said, pointing to a black spot against the violet
sky of the southern horizon. "You see the _gour_ there; that is your
way. It is eighteen miles from here. You should reach it by sunrise.
Then consult your map. The next point is marked. If you do not stray
from the line, you should be at the springs of Telemsi in eight days."

The camel's neck was stretched toward the dark wind coming from the
south.

The Targa released the bridle with a sweep of his hand.

"Now go."

"Thank you," I called to him, turning back in the saddle. "Thank you,
Cegheir-ben-Cheikh, and farewell."

I heard his voice replying in the distance:

"_Au revoir_, Lieutenant de Saint Avit."

XIX

THE TANEZRUFT

During the first hour of our flight, the great mehari of
Cegheir-ben-Cheikh carried us at a mad pace. We covered at least five
leagues. With fixed eyes, I guided the beast toward the _gour_ which
the Targa had pointed out, its ridge becoming higher and higher
against the paling sky.

The speed caused a little breeze to whistle in our ears. Great tufts
of _retem_, like fleshless skeletons, were tossed to right and left.

I heard the voice of Tanit-Zerga whispering: