Mack Reynolds - The Best Ye Breed

Abd-el-Kader suddenly dashed forward, flung himself on his famed white Arabian steed and dashed for the crowd which, in its hilarity, hardly had time to make way. He rode on through, at breakneck speed, and into the desert beyond, and never looking back.

El Aicha, his years-aged face empty of expression, turned to Kenny Ballalou and said, “And will you, then, O Vizier of El Hassan, go and inform him that no others of his foes dare confront him?”

Wordlessly, the American black headed for the path.

He hadn’t gone far into into the stark wasteland before he made out Bey who was leaning against a jagged rock.

Kenny said, “Hi, nigger.”

Bey snorted. “Look who’s calling who a nigger. Why you’re so black, each time you go out into the sun I expect you to fade.”

Kenny said, “Where the hell’s Homer and Cliff?”

Bey made a motion of his head as he came over. “Up ahead. I’m a decoy. I’d let the boys spot me and then I’d head off down this gully, with them after me at full speed. They’d have to go single file because it’s so narrow.”

He led the way, continuing, “There’s this kind of a little clearing up ahead. Homer would be standing to one side, Cliff to the other. As you know, Homer used to teach a karate class for the Marines. Cliff was a heavyweight runner-up in the Golden Gloves. I’d stand to one side and wince at the slaughter. These poor bastards have never fought with their hands in their lives. Most of our time was taken up tearing strips of cloth out of their fancy bloomer pants and tying them up and stashing them to one side. There might be a couple of busted jaws and a broken arm or so, but otherwise they’re mostly okay. Some are still unconscious, of course. What happened down below?”

They had entered the small clearing of which he had spoken. It was sand floored, as though an arena, which in some ways it resembled. Homer and Cliff leaned against the walls, to each side, breathing deeply.

Kenny looked at them in pretended disgust. “A couple of musclebound clods,” He said. “Down below, the crowd is laughing itself silly. First the remainder of his clan and then Abd-el-Kader himself, took off. I wouldn’t swear to it, but I have a sneaking suspicion that even those whirling dervishes out there are now devoted adherents of El Hassan. Why don’t the three of you go out and do kind of a soft shoe dance, and then Cliff can climax the act with bending more rifle barrels. It’ll wow ’em.”

Cliff looked down at his right hand and said, “I hope the hell I didn’t bust a knuckle on that last one. He had a head like a cement block.”

And Homer said, “Well, we couldn’t have kept up the pace much longer. Not in this sun. They didn’t put up much of a fight, but you can’t last forever. Let’s go down and get Elmer out of stir.”

“To hear is to obey, O El Hassan,” Cliff grinned. “My descendants will never believe this. What did you do in the big war against the Chaambra A-rabs, granddaddy… ?”

Their first instinct was to get away soonest and back into the desert, not exposing El Hassan to the limelight, maintaining his mystique. But it wasn’t in the cards. For one thing, Elmer Allen was in no condition to travel, not immediately. For another, the convening of the djemaa el kebar of the Chaambra confederation, not to speak of the chiefs present from other tribes, was too good an opportunity for conversion to the El Hassan movement to be missed. They were going to have to strike while the iron was as white hot as at present.

But it wouldn’t do for El Hassan and his viziers to be seen erecting their tents and utilizing their mundane camping equipment as other men would do.

The problem was solved by El Aicha appropriating for them the quarters of the headman of the small mud-brick settlement of the oasis on which the gathering was taking place. Squalid though it might be, windowless and practically without furniture, it was the best the tiny village provided. There was a smell of mildew, airlessness, sickness and dirty clothes. Strips of old carpet hung from the walls. Some filthy rags had been thrown into corners, here and there, obviously to be used as beds. The owner wasn’t overly put out. In fact his Keifhalak , ‘all in my house is yours,’ was effusive. For the rest of his life he could relate that El Hassan himself had once dwelt in his humble home.

They refused the offer of servants and even armed guards, and although El Hassan himself remained aloof, his three viziers busied themselves in hauling into the interior of the hut various items of folding furniture, cooking equipment and supplies.

Elmer Allen had quickly been rescued and a folding, heavy khaki camp-bathtub used several times over to clean him up. He was too shaky to handle a razor himself and Kenny took over in that department. They had also brought clothing his size. Bey assumed the role of doctor and went over him with what skill he possessed. There was little that could be done until they reached a doctor: the root of the severed finger had festered and this was cleaned, sulfa applied and he was given a double shot of antibiotics along with vitamin and mineral shots.

At first he spoke little, though they gathered about him. When he did, there was a stammer, a stutter in his voice.

In the medical footlocker was a bottle of excellent French cognac, which Kenny opened. He poured a couple of ounces into a tin cup and proffered it, but the hand that Elmer extended shook so that Kenny himself held the cup to the other’s sun blistered lips.

Cliff had been working over the camp stove and now brought over a heavy ceramic mug of steaming broth.

Elmer took several mouthfuls but then snarled, “Fer… fer… crissakes, give a… a chap something to sink… sink his teeth into. I’ve been… been eating camel dung, or what… whatever it was, for donkey’s years.”

The others laughed and Cliff went back to his stove.

Elmer looked over at one of the army cots which had been set up and got out, “I say. I… haven’t really slept since they… they put me in that portable med… medieval torture chamber.”

Cliff said, “Get this stew down and we’ll tuck you into beddy-by.”

Elmer snarled at him and then looked accusingly at Homer Crawford. He said, “What… what in the hell took you so long to clobber those blokes?”

Homer said, humorously placating, “There were twenty-one of them altogether and we didn’t want to hurt our fists.”

Later, when Elmer was snoring in complete exhaustion on the army cot tucked away in one corner of the not overly large hut, Homer, Bey, Kenny and Cliff sat around the folding camp table, finishing their own meal.

Kenny said, “What now?”

And Homer said slowly, poking at his stew with his fork, “We’ll address the djemaa de kebar tomorrow. Present a program for their spreading the word of El Hassan in this area, then make with a quick inspirational, slogan-shouting, address to the assembled multitude, and take off south.”

Bey made a motion of his head toward Elmer. “How about him?”

“We’ll rig up a bed in the back of the lorry. If it looks too tough for him, we’ll camp out in the boondocks somewhere until he’s more nearly recovered.”

Cliff said, “Why not take Elmer to Colum-Béchar and get him into a hospital? One of us could stay to watch over him and the rest could go on.”

Homer thought about it but shook his head. “No. Double reason. Colum-Béchar isn’t in our hands yet. There might be elements that would shoot their way into the hospital and finish you both off—not necessarily local people. The whole damn Reunited Nations has taken a preliminary stand against us, not to speak of the Arab Union. And not to speak of any remnant followers of our chum the mahdi—if any. Besides, it wouldn’t do for word to go out that one of El Hassan’s viziers was in hospital. El Hassan’s viziers are too tough to ever have to go to a hospital.”