CHAPTER XXIX
OUT OF THE DREAM, A PLAN
Stanton was dead, hacked in pieces by the men he had cursed and beaten.Ahmara had fled to Dardai to live as she could by her beauty; and themurderers, taking with them, in a rage of haste and terror, camels,water, and provisions, had disappeared. The caravan of the greatexplorer had vanished like a mirage; and the Lost Oasis lay hiddenforever from despoiling eyes and hands in the uncharted Libyan desert.
At dawn Sanda sat beside Max in his tent, where two of the few men whoremained had carried him. Through the hideous hours he had lain as onedead. But light, touching his eyelids, waked him with a shudderingstart.
"You!" he whispered. "Safe! I've had horrible dreams."
"Only dreams," she soothed him.
"How pale you are!" He stared at her, still half dazed.
"Perhaps it's the light."
"No, it's not the light. I remember now.... What happened afterhe--I----"
"I'll tell you when you're stronger."
"I'm strong enough for anything. Only a little odd in my head."
"And your poor wounded hand? I bathed it and bandaged it again, and younever knew."
"Queer! I thought if I were dead I should have known if you touched me!"He spoke more to himself than to Sanda, and she did not answer. Hiseyelids drooped, and presently he slept again. Hours later, when hewoke, she was still there. It seemed to the girl that the world hadfallen to pieces, leaving only her and this man in the ruins. All aroundthem lay the vast desert. To go back whence they had come wasimpossible. To go on seemed equally impossible. There was nowhere to go.But they were together. She knew that nothing could part them now, notlife, and even less death, yet she could see no future. Everything hadcome to a standstill, and their souls might as well be out of theirbodies. It would be so much simpler!
She gave Max tea that she had made; and when she had looked at his handand bandaged it again, she told him all that had happened. How theSenegalese, whose brother Stanton had shot for pilfering, a month ago,had stabbed Stanton in the breast, and fifty others in blood-madness hadrushed to finish his work. How Ahmara had run shrieking to the village,and the men, still in madness, had stolen the camels and gone off intothe desert; not the murderers only, but their friends who saw that itwas well to disappear, that it might never be known who were the menthat saw Richard Stanton die.
Two months and more ago, when the caravan left Touggourt, there wereover a hundred men who marched with it. Between that time and reachingDardai thirty had deserted, and a few had died. Now all had flownexcept a dozen of the oldest and most responsible who refused to becarried away by their comrades' vague fear of reprisals. Just thesetwelve were left with fifteen camels and a small store of arms andprovisions. There was money also, untouched in Stanton's tent, and somebales of European rugs, clocks, and musical boxes, which the explorerhad brought as gifts for native rulers. The question pressed: what wasto be done? Sanda could find no answer; but Max had two. They might turnback and go the way they had come. Or they might go on, not trying tocross the Libyan desert in the direction of Assouan, as Stanton hadhoped to do, but skirting southward by a longer route where the desertwas charted and oases existed. After a journey of seventy or eighty daysthey might hope to find their way through Kordofan to Omdurman, and thenacross the Nile to civilized Khartoum. It was this idea that the leadingmutineers, frightened by tales of the terrible Libyan desert, had meantto suggest to Stanton; and if he refused their intention had been todesert. The murder, Max felt sure, had not been premeditated; but he didnot believe that it was regretted.
"I will not go back to Touggourt," Sanda said, when he had described toher the two plans.
"Why? Because you are thinking of me?" he asked.
"Partly that. But it would be as bad for me as for you, now, if you wereto be arrested as a deserter. And besides," Sanda went on hurriedly,determined to show him it was for her sake more than his that sheobjected, "I've suffered so much I couldn't go again along that ViaDolorosa. I want to get away from the very thought of it. New sceneswill be better. How many miles must we journey to Omdurman andKhartoum?"
"Nearly a thousand," Max confessed.
"More than we've come with our great caravan! It's not possible."
"It must be possible!" said Max. "We'll make it possible."
"Surely such a thing has never been done!"
"Maybe not, but we'll do it. I feel now that I have the strength of ahundred men in myself."
"You haven't even the strength of one. We must stay here till you arestronger." Yet she shivered and grew cold at the thought of staying on,even with Max, close to the grave the men had dug for Stanton in thesand.
"I shall be better travelling," Max urged. He would not tell Sanda, buthe felt it unsafe to stay long near Dardai with so few men. The sheikhhad been hospitable to Stanton, but things were different now. Ahmarawould tell about the money and the boxes and bales full of presents. Thetemptation virtuously to punish those who were left, for the fate of theexplorer, would be too great, and the excuse too good.
"We shall have to get off after the heat of the day," Max insisted."I've lain here long enough, for, you see, I must be leader now for you.I must talk to the men and tell them what we've decided."
"How _little_ we are in this great desert, to talk of 'deciding,'" thegirl exclaimed. "It is the desert that will decide. But--you will bewith me always ... as in my dream!"
"And mine," Max added.
Then followed day upon day of the desert dream. Some days were evil andsome were good, but none could ever be forgotten. The man and the girlwhose dreams had come true never spoke of the future, though waking orsleeping the thought was seldom out of their minds.
"I _can't_ give her up now, whatever happens," Max said to himselfsometimes. Yet he did not see how he should be able, in justice to thegirl, to keep her. In British territory he would be safe from arrest asa deserter from the Legion. But the very thought of himself as adeserter was torture from which he could never escape. He regrettednothing. What he had done he would do again if he had it to do, even inignorance of the reward--her love. But he remembered how he had tried topuzzle out some other way for Valdez, and how impossible it would haveseemed then, that he should ever follow Manoeel's example. He lovedColonel DeLisle and he had loved the Legion with all its tragedies, andbeen proud of his place in it. He looked upon himself as a mandisgraced, and did not see how he should ever be able to make a positionin the world worthy to be shared by Sanda. Besides, it would bedisastrous for Colonel DeLisle, as an official, if his daughter shouldmarry a deserter. That was one of the things that "would not do." YetSanda loved the deserter, and fate had bound them together. The spiritof the desert was making them one. Max did not know that out of Sanda'sdreams had been born a plan.
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