Foster James H.
Captured by the Arabs

CHAPTER VI
Through Unknown Forests

“THAT a car – an automobile?” asked Bob, holding back his laughter.

“You don’t mean to say that thing will take us fourteen miles!” cried Joe, no less moved than his chum.

The naturalists smiled. They had apparently not expected this.

“It’s about the best we can do here,” confessed Mr. Lewis. “Of course there are better automobiles, but none of them seems to be for hire. You see, this drive-yourself idea doesn’t appear to be very popular here. I suppose it’s because there is so much danger of being attacked by bands of nomads who would think nothing of robbing the occupants and stealing the car. But this car, although not beautiful to look at, has a good motor and good tires, and that’s about all we could expect. Remember, we’re not in America now.”

The object of their remarks was indeed not anything to be especially proud of. A well-known American make, it had undoubtedly been of great service in its time, and was still capable of covering many more miles. It had no top, and nothing to show that one had been present, but the seats were in fair condition, and a well-shined windshield promised to keep away the formidable dust of the desert.

“Well, I suppose we could do much worse,” sighed Joe, taking his place in the back seat.

After a few more remarks with the keeper of the garage, the adventurers started the motor and pulled out into the street, Mr. Lewis at the wheel. The chug of the engine was almost deafening, but, as Bob remarked, they would probably get used to it.

“Ought to be some new springs,” said Joe, with a wink at his chum.

“And there could be new upholstering,” added Bob. “Of course it needs new – ”

“All right, boys,” smiled Mr. Holton, cutting off their capricious suggestions. “If you don’t like it, you know what you can do.”

“I guess we’d better shut up,” grinned Bob. “We may get thrown out on our ear.”

Mr. Lewis had studied the map of Algiers and had no difficulty in finding his way out of the city and to Maison Carrée, which might almost be called a suburb of the metropolis. From here they went almost straight south and soon came to a narrow river, which was spanned by a small bridge.

“Scarcely any curves from here on,” said Mr. Lewis, as he increased the speed of the car.

The road remained good, and in a short time they reached Arba, their destination. Here for the first time they caught a glimpse of a camel caravan, for they are never seen as far as Algiers. It was composed of about ten dromedaries, with only three riders. Strapped on the brutes’ backs were packs containing probably dates and other products of the desert.

Bob and Joe took in the scene with intense interest, for soon they would be fitted out in a like manner for the long desert journey. The youths were particularly anxious to observe the manner in which the brutes are ridden. They had heard that to straddle a camel and be able to bounce freely along was an art that came only of long practice. Whether this was true they did not know but resolved to find out sooner or later from Fekmah.

“I’ll bet it’s harder than it looks, though,” remarked Joe.

A little later they saw other caravans of donkeys, the usual beast of burden used near the coast.

“The Arab, unlike other natives, never carries his load,” explained Mr. Holton. “I guess he thinks it lowers himself too much.”

They drove on into the town and had more trouble finding good streets than in Algiers.

Luckily it was Wednesday, and the market was in full swing. Traders were swarming everywhere, buying and selling the queer native goods and foodstuffs.

“Suppose we park the car where we can and look about a bit,” suggested Joe. “It’s no special hurry to begin the hunt, is it?”

The others were more than willing, and as soon as possible the automobile – if it could be called that – was stopped at a convenient corner.

“Sure feels good to get out and stretch,” smiled Bob, taking advantage of the opportunity to relax his cramped legs.

They left the car and made for the business center of the town, intent upon spending a half-hour or so in watching the busy scene of interest.

It was soon discovered that except for the large market there was little of interest to be seen. In many respects the town resembled Algiers, although on a much smaller scale and not nearly as modern. The streets were narrow and, in many cases, curving, and the houses were far from attractive. But the hustle and bustle of the natives clearly indicated that Arba was of considerable importance commercially.

This was especially noted in the city market, where every article imaginable was for sale. Bakers, vegetable dealers, butchers, shoemakers, wine venders, and many others did their best to convince the buyer of the worth of their products.

“And over there in that tent is a physician,” pointed out Mr. Lewis. “How good he would be considered in the United States is hard to say, but the Arabs seem to have confidence in him. Look at the patients going in.”

“For my part, I’d rather trust nature to cure my illness,” smiled Bob, as he noted the rather blank expression of the native physician.

The explorers spent nearly a half-hour in the city, taking in the various sights so strange and interesting to a visitor from a far-away land. At last Mr. Holton moved that they go back to the car and get their rifles and begin the hunt, and the others were in favor of doing so.

Their lunch, cartridges, binoculars, and other hunting necessities were packed in lightweight ruck sacks, which required but a minute to strap on their backs.

The car was to be left where it was, as probably no better parking place could be found.

“Guess we’re ready,” said Mr. Lewis, picking up his rifle.

It required but a short walk to reach the edge of the town, and one glance revealed that the country here was wild and uncultivated. Mountains were but a short distance away, and some of the peaks were rather impressive.

“Those forests look like there might be anything in them,” observed Joe, directing his glance at the towering wooded slopes.

“We’ll see in a short time,” said his father, fumbling his rifle.

The foothills over which they were passing were, for the most part, bare and devoid of heavy vegetation. But a little later they came to a region that gradually sloped upward, and less than an hour’s traveling brought them to the base of a high, sloping mountain, which was covered with a dense forest.

With renewed efforts they began the task of climbing, keeping a sharp lookout for any wild animals that might dart out in front of them.

“About all the wild animals to be found here are rabbits, jackals, hyenas, panthers, and a very few lions,” said Mr. Holton, as they trudged up the hill.

Luckily there were no sharp cliffs to be scaled. Instead, the way was gradual, unbroken.

“I’d like to get a glimpse of one of those queer creatures that have been reported to exist in these woods,” remarked Mr. Holton with a smile.

“What’s that?” asked Joe.

“Another Arabian myth, most likely. At any rate I know of nobody who has ever been fortunate enough to see one. It is supposed to be about the size of a badger and is a very peculiar combination of six or more well-known animals. The face, eyes, tail, abdomen, and other body regions are supposed to be taken from other creatures; and all the details are very accurate and convincing, to hear the Arab tell it. Again arises the question of where such queer conceptions get into his head.”

As they hiked on, Bob and Joe began to get behind their elders. There was much to be seen in the way of odd plants and colorful flowers, and their attention was continually diverted from one thing to another.

“I suppose when we get as seasoned in the art of exploring as our dads we’ll not notice such minorities,” said Bob. “But right now – ”

He stopped suddenly as he caught sight of something that made his blood turn cold.

Not five feet away was a huge wild boar, showing its terrible tusks savagely as it prepared to rush at the youths.

CHAPTER VII
Good News

“WHAT is it?” cried Joe, as he noticed the look of anxiety on his chum’s face.

For answer, Bob pointed to the wild boar, and as Joe glanced around he shrank back in consternation.

“Quick!” he cried. “It’s going to charge!”

There was no time to lose. The animal, angered because cornered, was getting ready to stand its ground savagely. And the boys had heard of the wild boar’s terrible ferocity.

Almost in unison the youths raised their rifles and took careful aim. The guns were of only twenty-two caliber, not any too powerful for the occasion, but the chance had to be taken.

“Now,” murmured Bob, holding his rifle in a steady position.

Bang! Bang! Two shots rang out, and each found the mark.

But the small bullets did not stop the beast’s charge, and it came on with horrible atrocity.

“Run!” cried Bob, his nerve completely gone. “Let’s go up a tree!”

As the youths darted to one side, a shot rang out; another; and still another. A moment later the wild boar sank to the ground in a crumpled mass, gave a convulsive twitch, and then lay still.

Mr. Lewis and Mr. Holton came running up, on their faces a look of apprehension.

“A narrow escape!” said Joe grimly. “It’s a good thing you came across with those high-speed bullets. They sure did the job, all right.”

“We just happened to glance around in time,” explained his father. “We didn’t know you boys were so far behind. Why didn’t you bring larger rifles?”

“Weren’t expecting to meet such a creature as this,” replied Bob. “I had an idea that this was a tame country, but I see I’m wrong,” with a glance at the wild boar.

“You certainly are,” smiled Mr. Holton, shaking his head. “And this incident may be the beginning of a series of adventures with wild animals. Where there’s one of a thing there’s likely to be another. So stick close, boys. I’d hate to have to rely on those twenty-twos again.”

The wild boar was shattered by the bullets and was no good as a specimen. The naturalists especially wanted one of these terrible beasts and were put out to think that this one had been made worthless by the rifles, but they were thankful that they had been able to come to the rescue of their sons.

With one last look at the creature they resumed the hike, this time keeping a closer lookout for any other formidable beast.

As they penetrated deeper into the forest, signs of life began to increase in numbers. Small rodents darted out, only to be brought down by the guns of the naturalists; lizards of grotesque and ugly shapes were all about; birds of many colors flew overhead, their plumage showing brightly in the sunlight. It was a sight that the youths never grew tired of.

Suddenly a jackal ran out, and Mr. Holton lost no time in firing at it. It was carefully but quickly skinned and placed in the burlap bag for the specimens.

“This forest certainly is untrodden,” observed Mr. Lewis, unable to discern the faintest traces of human tracks. “It has probably been a long time since anyone broke into its fastness.”

“Which is all the better for us,” said Joe. “Animals here probably have never heard the sound of a gun before.”

Along toward noon they picked out a small grassy area and got out the kit of lunch. The sandwiches were spread on a paper, and thermos bottles of cold lemonade were opened. To the tired adventurers it promised to be a feast fit for a king.

“No meal in the most luxurious café tastes better than a bountiful lunch in the heart of a forest,” said Mr. Lewis.

Bob’s father nodded.

“It has been said that no one but an explorer really knows what an appetite is,” he remarked. “And in times when I’m working in the museum at home and not doing any strenuous work I can fully realize the truth of it.”

They ate the lunch in quiet contentment, taking it easy on the soft grass. It seemed good to be out on the trail again, feasting on the wonders of nature. Bob and Joe were impressed by the stillness of the great forest.

“This is about the only kind of a woods you can get through,” remarked Bob, his eyes on the numerous cork-oak trees. “A tropical jungle has so much undergrowth and vines that it keeps you busy cutting them away with a machete.”

An hour or two after the repast was spent in resting their tired limbs and chatting merrily. Then Mr. Lewis suggested that they continue the hunt.

“We won’t have so very much time left,” he said. “And we’d like to get several more specimens.”

A little later they came to a narrow valley between two high mountains. A tiny spring trickled from beside a large rock, and they welcomed the taste of the refreshing liquid. It was quite cold, showing that it probably came from an underground stream.

“Drink all you want,” said Mr. Lewis. “It’s likely the last water we’ll see till we get back to Arba.”

All the remainder of that afternoon the explorers trudged on, bringing down several small animals and birds. None of them happened to be dangerous, however.

The hunters had described a wide circle that took them by sundown within a mile or two from Arba, and the accuracy of the naturalists’ calculations was greatly appreciated, for they were very tired and did not feel that they would care to have to hike a great distance to get to the automobile.

“Wonder if the old car’s still there,” mused Bob, as they came to the limits of Arba.

“Don’t know why it shouldn’t be,” returned his chum. “Nobody’d want it for anything.”

It required but a short time to reach the main part of the town. Then they turned off on the street where the car was parked.

“It’s there!” cried Joe, making out its ancient shape in the distance.

The others shared in his enthusiasm. They had had an uneasy feeling about its safety all day, despite the fact that the ignition had been locked.

In a short time the explorers were in the seats, and Joe, who had asked to drive, began the task of starting the engine. It finally responded to the sluggish self-starter.

“Now let’s hurry and get back to Algiers,” urged Mr. Holton. “We don’t want to be out after dark, for there’s no telling how good these lights are.”

During the next half-hour Joe pulled the throttle as far down as possible, and then complained because he could only do forty-five. However, it was not long before they saw the lights of Algiers in the distance.

“Now to get something to eat,” said Mr. Holton, sitting up in the seat in anticipation. “It will be good to see the old hotel again, won’t it?”

“Sure will,” replied Bob. “I’ll bet Dr. Kirshner expected us long before this.”

“He’s probably conversing with Fekmah,” was the opinion expressed by Mr. Lewis. “You know,” he went on, “that Arab is a strange contrast to these worthless fellows around here. It all goes to show what anyone can do if he wants to.”

“He’s educated, too, isn’t he?” inquired Joe.

“Yes, highly,” the naturalist replied. “Was graduated from the University of Algiers and received a degree. What he doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing.”

“Where is his home?” asked Bob. “He doesn’t live in Algiers, does he?”

“No. He lives in Oran; that’s about a hundred and twenty-five miles or so west of here. Quite a prosperous city, I guess.”

“But,” questioned Bob, thoroughly puzzled, “what is he doing here in Algiers?”

“It all goes back to Dr. Kirshner’s conversation with him on the ship,” Mr. Holton explained. “You see, Tom” – referring to the archæologist – “met him on the last day of the voyage and recognized him to be a very intellectual man. As soon as Fekmah found that he could trust Kirshner, he confided this secret about the hidden riches. Well, then, when he found that we would accept his proposition and make it one of the objects of the expedition to search for this treasure, Fekmah put up at a hotel in Algiers in order to accompany us into the Sahara. See?”

“Sure. I don’t know now why I didn’t before.”

They were now among the lights of Algiers, and Joe headed straight for the business section, where the car was to be returned to the garage.

They reached the place in a short time and left the automobile. Then they hurried around to their hotel.

When they came to their room, they found Dr. Kirshner and Fekmah in earnest conversation. When the two heard their friends in the hall, they arose, wreathed in smiles.

“We have good news for you,” announced Dr. Kirshner joyously. “The train is leaving for Wargla in the morning.”

CHAPTER VIII
Off for the Sahara

“HURRAH!” burst out Joe, overwhelmed with delight. “We’ll get ahead of those crooks after all.”

“When did you find out?” asked Mr. Holton, as overjoyed as the youth.

“Late this afternoon,” was the response. “We intended to make frequent trips to the railroad station in order to know as soon as possible. The agent there informed us that the track had been cleared last night and the locomotive repaired this morning. He didn’t give the impression that there are other trains on this route, but I suppose there are.”

“That’s fine!” exclaimed Mr. Lewis, as excited as a boy. “We’ll get a meal at once and then complete preparations for the journey. Have you two eaten?”

“Yes,” returned Fekmah. “It is getting late. Six, seven o’clock.”

The naturalists and their sons made their way to the café and did full justice to a delicious meal. Then they went back to their room and finished packing their possessions.

“Do you know,” remarked Joe that night just before retiring, “we were, in a sense, responsible for that train wreck?”

Bob looked up in surprise.

“If it hadn’t been for our proposed expedition, those two Arabs would have had no cause to wreck the train,” Joe explained.

“Oh. Indirectly, huh? Well, you’re right.”

Very early the next morning the explorers were up making last-minute preparations. The train was to leave for Wargla at eight o’clock, giving them three hours or so to use to best advantage.

“When do we reach our destination?” asked Bob, as he snapped the catch on his handbag.

“At about noon day after tomorrow,” answered Dr. Kirshner. “You see, it’s a three-hundred-and-seventy-five-mile journey, and the train won’t go any too fast through the mountains.”

“Mountains? Do we go through mountains?” queried Joe, a little surprised.

“Yes, twice. Through these around here and then in the more lofty Aures. And the scenery is said to be wonderful.”

“What cities do we pass through?” Bob asked.

“Setif, Batna, Biskra, and Tuggourt are the principal ones,” the archæologist replied. “But there are a number of smaller towns. Get a map. There’s one in the pocket of that bag over there.”

The boys took out the guide to Algeria and studied it closely. They found that the railroad did not make a straight run but curved considerably in order to pass through several important cities and towns. The map was not strictly up to date and consequently did not show the new stretch from Tuggourt to Wargla.

“It’s been constructed only recently,” explained Mr. Lewis. “At present the French have proposed building a trans-Sahara route. When they will begin it, if ever, we don’t know.”

“Perhaps not in our lifetimes,” smiled Joe. “Large enterprises like that come very slowly.”

An hour before train time everything was in readiness, and it was Mr. Holton who suggested that they go down to the railroad station.

The others were in favor of doing so, and as it was but a short distance away they were content to walk and carry their belongings. There was a good-sized load, but it was distributed evenly without anyone being overtaxed.

At the station they checked the things securely and safely. Even then they had a leisure half-hour.

“You may be surprised at sight of the train,” said Fekmah.

And they were. The Americans had expected to see rickety wood coaches attached to an incapable locomotive, but instead they saw a large, fine train of the French design.

“All due to the influence of France, I suppose,” remarked Dr. Kirshner, as he followed the others up in the coach.

A few minutes later they felt a slight jerk and the train began moving slowly away from the station. Gradually it picked up speed, and before long Algiers disappeared on the horizon.

“We’re off!” said Joe enthusiastically. “Before long we’ll see the great Sahara Desert!”

It required but a few minutes to reach Maison Carrée, and after a short stop they began the journey in earnest. Rapidly they passed through cultivated fields, orange groves, and vineyards, heading for the mountains. Small farmhouses were left behind, their owners laboring in the fields. Villages inhabited largely by whites were passed, and occasionally a five-horse cart loaded with swarthy Arabs could be seen winding slowly along the shaded roads.

Finally they came to the Djurdjura Mountains, after having passed through the dense forest of La Reghaia. Through numerous tunnels and around scenic gorges they went, and finally came to Palestro, a small town on the banks of the Isser River. Here the train stopped for a few brief minutes.

Again it took up the journey, speeding through the beautiful mountain gorges. In the narrow valleys farmers could be seen laboring with primitive implements. The next stop was Beni-Mansour, where the railroad branched.

Still on they went, the mountainous country gradually growing wilder and more beautiful. Occasionally they found themselves in a narrow gulch between high walls of rock, and a curious sensation of being hemmed in crept over them.

After passing through a long tunnel, the train sped out on a barren plain, with little vegetation and few or no people. Another stop was at Setif, a modern city populated by Americans and Europeans as well as natives.

Resuming the journey, they passed over another great stretch of level country, and then finally a mountain range could be seen in the distance. But just when the explorers were anticipating the change of scenery, the train pulled into El Guerrah and stopped.

“Here we must get off,” announced Fekmah, getting his belongings together. “We must change trains for Biskra. This one goes on.”

The explorers lugged their belongings out on the platform and into the station.

Darkness was fast approaching, and as it would be necessary to remain in El Guerrah overnight, the adventurers stepped into the hotel, which was the only structure in sight.

“The town is some distance away,” declared Fekmah. “We not have time to see it.”

At the hotel they engaged rooms and lost no time in getting to them. Sleepiness was rapidly overpowering them, and they went to bed at once.

The next morning they awaited the train to take them on the remainder of the journey. At eight o’clock it was there, and the explorers climbed aboard, eager to get started on the last stretch.

“What’s the next stop?” asked Bob, as he stretched out on the comfortable seat.

“Batna,” his father returned. “Quite a prosperous place, I guess. And it is the starting point for tourist excursions to several Roman cities that are of considerable interest historically.”

Inside of an hour that city was reached. A short stop and then they were off for Biskra, at the very edge of the Sahara.

“We are now three thousand five hundred feet above the level of the sea,” declared Fekmah, as the train sped over the last few miles of level country.

Soon they came to the Aures Mountains, and between high walls of rock they sped. At last the short range of peaks was passed, and they found themselves once more on comparatively level ground.

Suddenly Fekmah pointed to a high ridge of rock:

“The Sahara Desert!” he exclaimed. “We have come to it at last.”