His bare feet rested firmly upon the white platform, and the arm thatheld the shepherd's staff was knotted with muscles which a strong manmight have envied him.
His beardless face was dark, but not so dark as to hide the eager flushwhich heightened the color in his cheeks, and his chest rose and fell indeep, quick motions from his rapid climb.
His lips were parted. His dark eyes flashed, while the hand which shadedthem stood out from his forehead as though trying to carry the sight alittle farther, that it might pierce the defiles of those distant hillsand the shadows of the date palm groves.
The sun rose higher, and its full light fell across the youngIshmaelite. It was the signal for the morning call to prayer, and fromthe minaret of every mosque in the realm of Islam was sounding _LaIllaha il Allah Mahamoud rousol il Allah_. Kanana did not need to hearthe call, however. He instantly forgot his mission, and, a humble anddevout Mohammedan, laid aside his staff and reverently faced towardMecca to repeat his morning prayer.
Standing erect, with his open hands beside his head, the palms turnedforward, he solemnly began the _Nummee Allah voul-hamda_. With his handscrossed upon his breast he continued. Then he placed his hands upon hisknees, then sat upon the floor. Then with his open hands upon the floorhe touched his forehead to the platform as he repeated the closing wordsof the prayer.
In this position he remained for some time, whispering a petition of hisown for strength and courage to carry out the task which he hadundertaken.
There was something so solemn and impressive in the death-like stillnessof the early morning, upon that solitary peak, that it almost seemed toKanana 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 anotherin quick succession mingled with savage yells.
It was not the voice of Allah, for which he had been waiting, and Kananasprang to his feet and looked anxiously about him.
The mountains of Arabia are not high. Among real mountains, Mount Horwould be but a rocky hill. Looking down, for the first time, Kanana sawthe stream below him, in its border of blue forget-me-nots, and couldclearly distinguish the five soldiers who had so quickly fallen asleepupon its banks.
It was a fearful sight which met his eyes. The five men were still lyingthere, but they were no longer sleeping. They were dead or dying; slainby three Bedouin robbers, who had crept upon them for the valuable prizeof their horses, and who did not dare attempt to steal the animals whilethe masters were alive.
It was almost the first time that Kanana's eyes had rested upon a sceneof blood, common as such scenes are among his countrymen, and he stoodin the porch benumbed with horror, while the robbers tore from thebodies about them such garments as pleased them; then took theirweapons, mounted three of the horses, and leading two rode quickly awayto 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 momentthat he lost must be redeemed by hurrying so much the faster under theburning sun, over the scorching sand, when, at the best, it was doubtfulif flesh and blood could stand what must be required of it.
With a shudder he turned from the terrible scene and began to descendthe mountain. Soon he was upon the banks of the stream and passing closeto the spot where the five bodies were lying. He would not run, but hehurried on, with his eyes fixed upon the ground before him.
A faint sound caught his ear. He started, clutched his staff, andturned sharply about, thinking that the robbers had seen him andreturned. It was only one of the unfortunate soldiers who had been leftfor dead. He had raised himself upon his elbow, and was trying toattract Kanana's attention.
"Water! water! In the name of Allah, give me water!" he gasped, and fellback unconscious.
For a moment Kanana was tempted to hurry on. He did not want to gothere, any more than he wanted to delay his journey; but somethingwhispered to him of the promises of the Koran to those who show mercy tothe suffering; that Allah would reward even a cup of water given to thethirsty.
It required no little courage of the Bedouin boy, all alone under MountHor, but he resolutely turned back, filled with water the wooden cupwhich a shepherd always carries at his girdle, and poured it down theparched throat of the almost insensible man.
"Bless God for water!" he gasped. "More! give me more!"
Kanana ran to the brook and filled the cup again, but the poor man shookhis head. It was too late. He was dying.
Suddenly he roused himself. He made a desperate struggle to call backhis 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. Themighty Prince Constantine, son of the Emperor Heraclius, is soon toleave Constantinople, at the head of a vast army of Turks and Greeks andRomans, like the leaves of the forest and the sand of the desert. He iscoming to sweep the Arab from the face of the earth and the light of thesun. We were bearing a letter to the Caliph Omar, who is now at Mecca,telling him of the danger and asking help. If the letter does not reachhim Arabia is lost and the Faithful are destroyed. Would you see thathappen?"
Too frightened to speak and hardly comprehending the situation, Kananasimply shook his head.
The man made another effort to overcome the stupor that had almostmastered him. He succeeded in taking from his clothing a letter, sealedwith 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 ofAllah, I will."
He took the letter and was hiding it in his bosom when the soldiergrasped 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 handstill touched the letter which he had placed in his bosom. His eyesstill rested upon the lips that would never speak again.
His sacred promise had been pledged to fly with that letter to the greatcaliph at Mecca. It had been made in the name of Allah. It had beengiven to the man now lying dead before him. There was no power thatcould retract it. It must be performed, and until it was performed noother consideration could retard his steps or occupy his thoughts.
His lips parted and he muttered, angrily: "Is this my reward for havinggiven a cup of water to the thirsty?" Then it suddenly occurred to himthat the caravan which he longed most of all to follow was also upon itsway southward, and that, for the present at least, for either missionthe direction was the same, and the demand for haste was great.
He caught his staff from the ground and set his face toward Mecca,pondering upon the dying statement of the soldier till word for word itwas fastened in his memory, and the thought that his mission was forAllah and Arabia urged him on.
It was an easy task to follow the trail of the caravan. The Bedouinwould be a disgrace to the desert who could not recognize in the sandthe recent footprint of one of his own tribe or of a camel with which hewas familiar, and who could not tell by a footprint whether the man orcamel who made it carried a burden, often what that burden was, alwayswhether he was fresh or exhausted, walking leisurely or hurrying.
So Kanana hurried on, daily reading the news of the caravan before himas he went, testing his strength to the utmost before he rested, andstarting again as soon as he was able; over the sand and over the hills,through groves and villages and over sand again; always toward Mecca.
The Lance of Kanana: A Story of Arabia Page 5