The Lance of Kanana
Chapter 4
He ran up the steep sides of Mount Hor,
and Kanana climbed, without waiting to look for a path.
He saw nothing, heard nothing. He was all eagerness to
reach the summit, in the faint hope that it might not be
too late to see the departing caravan of Raschid Airikat.
Unless a camel is fresh, unusually large and strong, or
constantly urged, it rarely makes more than two miles an
hour. It was not over ten hours since the robber sheik
had left the oasis, and some of the camels were very old
and exhausted. It was a foolish hope, no doubt, and yet
Kanana hoped that anything so large as a great caravan
might still be distinguishable.
Up, up, up he climbed—as fast as hands and feet could
carry him. He no longer felt the cool air of early
morning. He no longer looked about him to see the new
sights of a strange oasis. He did not even pause to look
away over the desert as he climbed. The highest point
was none too high. He did not care how far he could see
until he had gained the white tomb of Aaron, upon the
very crest. Had he not been too thoroughly occupied with
what was above him to notice what transpired about him
and down below, he would have seen five Arab horsemen
reach the stream by which he slept, almost as he began
to climb.
They were Muslim soldiers, thoroughly armed for war, and
had evidently come from the northern borders of Arabia,
where the victorious Muslims were triumphantly planting
the banner of Islam. They had been riding hard, and both
men and horses were exhausted. They hurried to the
water. The men hastily ate some food, which they
carried, and tethered their horses in Arab fashion, by a
chain, one end of which is fastened about the forefoot
of the animal and the other end about the master, to
prevent their being stolen while the master sleeps. The
moment this was accomplished, the five men rolled
themselves in their mantles, covering their faces, as
well as their bodies, and lay down upon the grass to
sleep.
They were skilled in the art of making long journeys in
the shortest possible time, and were evidently upon
important business, for an Arab is never in haste unless
his mission is very important. Before Kanana reached the
mosque the men were soundly sleeping, and the horses,
lying down to rest themselves, were still eating the
grass about them, as a camel eats.
Panting for breath, and trembling in his eager haste,
Kanana reached the tomb of Aaron: an open porch, with
white pillars supporting a roof of white, like a crown
of eternal snow upon the summit of Mount Hor. Between
the snowy pillars Kanana paused. One quick glance at the
sky gave him the points of the compass, and shading his
eyes from the glowing east, he looked anxiously to the
south and west.
Sand, sand, sand, in billows like great waves of an
ocean, lay about him in every direction. Far away there
were low hills, and a semblance of green, which, to his
practiced eye, meant a grove of date palms upon the
banks of a stream. But nowhere, search as he would, was
there the faintest speck to indicate the caravan.
He was still anxiously scanning those distant hills when
the first rays of the rising sun shot from the eastern
horizon, flashing a halo of glory upon the snow-white
crown of old Mount Hor, before they touched the green
oasis lying about its base. Never, in all the ages, had
the sun come up out of the Arabian Desert to see such a
tableau as his first bright beams illumined Aaron's
tomb.
All absorbed in his eager search, Kanana stood upon the
very edge of the white porch. One hand was extended,
grasping his shepherd's staff; the other was lifted to
shade his eyes.
In his eagerness to reach forward, one foot was far
before the other, and the knee was bent, as though he
were ready to leap down the steep slope before him.
His turban, a large square piece of cloth, was bound
about his head with a camel's-hair cord; one corner was
thrown back over his forehead, and a corner fell over
each shoulder, like a cloak. His coat was sheepskin
stitched together. Summer and winter, rain and sunshine,
the Bedouin shepherd wears that sheepskin coat, as the
best protection against both sun and frost.
His bare feet rested firmly upon the white platform, and
the arm that held the shepherd’s staff was knotted with
muscles, which a strong man might have envied him. His
beardless face was dark, but not so dark as to hide the
eager flush, which heightened the color in his cheeks,
and his chest rose and fell in deep, quick motions from
his rapid climb. His lips were parted. His dark eyes
flashed, while the hand which shaded them stood out from
his forehead as though trying to carry the sight a
little farther, that it might pierce the defiles of
those distant hills and the shadows of the date palm
groves.
The sun rose higher, and its full light fell across the
young Ishmaelite. It was the signal for the morning call
to prayer, and from the minaret of every mosque in the
realm of Islam was sounding La illaha illallah
Muhammadur Rasulullah. Kanana did not need to hear the
call, however. He instantly forgot his mission, and, a
humble and devout Muslim, laid aside his staff and
reverently faced toward Makkah to repeat his Morning
Prayer.
In this position he remained for some time, whispering a
petition to God for the strength and courage to carry
out the task, which he had undertaken. There was
something so solemn and impressive in the death-like
stillness of the early morning, upon that solitary peak,
that it almost seemed to Kanana that, if he listened, he
should hear the voice of Allah, answering his prayer.
Suddenly the silence was broken by a sharp cry, and
another and another in quick succession mingled with
savage yells. It was not the voice of Allah, for which
he had been waiting, and Kanana sprang to his feet and
looked anxiously about him.
The mountains of Arabia are not high. Among real
mountains, Mount Hor would be but a rocky hill. Looking
down, for the first time, Kanana saw the stream below
him, in its border of blue forget-me-nots, and could
clearly distinguish the five soldiers who had so quickly
fallen asleep upon its banks. It was a fearful sight,
which met his eyes. The five men were still lying there,
but they were no longer sleeping. They were dead or
dying; slain by three Bedouin robbers, who had crept
upon them for the valuable prize of their horses, and
who did not dare attempt to steal the animals while the
masters were alive.
It was almost the first time that Kanana's eyes had
rested upon a scene of blood, common as such scenes are
among his countrymen, and he stood in the porch benumbed
with horror, while the robbers tore from the bodies
about them such garments as pleased them; then took
their weapons, mounted three of the horses, and leading
two rode quickly away to the north.
There was no assistance, which Kanana could render the
unfortunate men. The caravan was already a night's march
ahead of him and every moment that he lost must be
redeemed by hurrying so much the faster under the
burning sun, over the scorching sand, when, at the best,
it was doubtful if flesh and blood could stand what must
be required of it.
With a shudder he turned from the terrible scene and
began to descend the mountain. Soon he was upon the
banks of the stream and passing close to the spot where
the five bodies were lying. He would not run, but he
hurried on, with his eyes fixed upon the ground before
him.
A faint sound caught his ear. He started, clutched his
staff, and turned sharply about, thinking that the
robbers had seen him and returned. It was only one of
the unfortunate soldiers who had been left for dead. He
had raised himself upon his elbow, and was trying to
attract Kanana's attention.
"Water! Water! In the name of Allah, give me water!" he
gasped, and fell back unconscious.
For a moment Kanana was tempted to hurry on. He did not
want to go there, any more than he wanted to delay his
journey; but something whispered to him of the promises
of the Holy Qur’an to those who show mercy to the
suffering; that Allah would reward even a cup of water
given to the thirsty. It required no little courage of
the Bedouin boy, completely alone under Mount Hor, but
he resolutely turned back, filled with water the wooden
cup that a shepherd always carries at his girdle, and
poured it down the parched throat of the almost
insensible man.
"May Allah (swt) bless you for giving me the water!" he
gasped. "More! Give me more!"
Kanana ran to the brook and filled the cup again, but
the poor man shook his head. It was too late. He was
dying. Suddenly he roused himself. He made a desperate
struggle to call back his failing senses, and, for a
moment, threw off the hand of Death. He had almost given
up, forgetting something of great importance. Steadying
himself upon his elbow, he looked into Kanana's face and
said:
"You are a beardless youth, but you are an Arab. Listen
to me. The mighty Prince Constantine, son of the Emperor
Heraclius, is soon to leave Constantinople, at the head
of a vast army of Turks and Greeks and Romans, like the
leaves of the forest and the sand of the desert. He is
coming to sweep the Arab from the face of the earth and
the light of the sun. We were bearing a letter to the
Caliph Omar, who is now at Makkah, telling him of the
danger and asking help. If the letter does not reach him
Arabia is lost and all the Faithful will definitely be
destroyed. Would you see that happen?"
Too frightened to speak and hardly comprehending the
situation, Kanana simply shook his head. The man made
another effort to overcome the stupor that had almost
mastered him. He succeeded in taking from his clothing a
letter, sealed with the great seal, and gasped:
"In the name of Allah, will you fly with this to the
great caliph?"
Hardly realizing what he said, Kanana solemnly repeated:
"In the name of Allah, I will!"
He took the letter and was hiding it in his bosom when
the soldier grasped the cup of water, drank ravenously,
and, with the last swallow, let the cup fall from
lifeless fingers. Minute after minute passed, but Kanana
did not move a muscle. His hand still touched the
letter, which he had placed in his bosom. His eyes still
rested upon the lips that would never speak again. His
sacred promise had been pledged to fly with that letter
to the great Caliph at Makkah. It had been made in the
name of Allah. It had been given to the man now lying
dead before him. There was no power that could retract
it. It must be performed, and until it was performed no
other consideration could retard his steps or occupy his
thoughts.
His lips parted and he muttered, angrily: "Is this my
reward for having given a cup of water to the thirsty?"
Then it suddenly occurred to him that the leader of the
caravan whom he longed to meet most of all to follow was
also upon its way southward, and that, for the present
at least, for either mission the direction was the same,
and the demand for haste was great. He caught his staff
from the ground and set his face toward Makkah,
pondering upon the dying statement of the soldier till
word for word it was fastened in his memory, and the
thought that his mission was for Allah and Arabia urged
him on.
It was an easy task to follow the trail of the caravan.
The Bedouin would be a disgrace to the desert who could
not recognize in the sand the recent footprint of one of
his own tribe or of a camel with which he was familiar,
and who could not tell by a footprint whether the man or
camel who made it carried a burden, often what that
burden was, always whether he was fresh or exhausted,
walking leisurely or hurrying.
So Kanana hurried on, daily reading the news of the
caravan before him as he went, testing his strength to
the utmost before he rested, and starting again as soon
as he was able; over the sand and over the hills,
through groves and villages and over sand again; always
toward Makkah.
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