Chapter 2
VOICE IN THE EVENING
Catroux and Teuns Stegmann stood there in the sun for quite a while, without really knowing what to do next. Until Teuns finally asked, “Are you planning to investigate this incident, mon Sergent?”
Catroux looked somewhat despondently out over the glistening sand. “Investigate? What should we investigate? That there apparently was a woman in this fight? Where are we going to search and who are we going to search for?”
“Shouldn’t we move a bit in the direction of the oasis Harba, mon Sergent?” asked Teuns. “I notice that the tracks lead there from here.”
“How many?”
“I estimate there are about thirty animals, Sergeant. I think one can assume that the ten camels whose tracks I identified belonged to the caravan. It seems to me there are about twenty riders in the group that ambushed the caravan here.”
“And they headed towards Harba?”
“The tracks lead straight towards Harba.”
“We might as well head towards Harba for a bit and see if we spot anything further. This is a disappointment. I thought we could safely head back to Fort Laval.” He looked up at the South African and saw Teuns’s eyes sparkle. “You’re always looking for adventure, Private Stegmann, aren’t you?”
“Adventure is always interesting after all these boring days we’ve spent on this patrol march, mon Sergent,” said the South African, smiling broadly. “And who knows, perhaps this is a pretty damsel we need to rescue.”
Catroux’s wrinkled face crinkled into a smile. “Well then,” he said with a bit more enthusiasm. “Let’s go look for the fair mademoiselle. I’ll die laughing if she’s a plump Arab auntie.”
“I am quite sure that is not the case, mon officier,” said Teuns with great certainty. They turned and walked back to where the others were lounging in the sand.
“We’re heading to Harba,” Catroux ordered curtly.
The men stood up, groaning and disgruntled. They wondered what expedition the sergeant intended to launch now.
But their lack of enthusiasm quickly vanished when Catroux spoke again. “It appears there was a lady in this fight. I believe she must be a white lady, and this needs to be investigated. We will march as far as Harba and ascertain what is going on.”
Fritz Mundt suddenly brushed imaginary lint off his sleeves. Petacci took off his kepi and pretended to smooth his dark curly hair, and Podolski adjusted his uniform slightly.
“She is corn-blonde with long braids,” Fritz announced. “She comes from Bavaria, I’m sure of it. And since I’m the only man here who can speak German, she’s mine.”
“She is a dark senorita with thick, black hair and such beautiful ankles,” Petacci opined. He pursed his lips and pressed his fingertips against them.
“I bet she’s a yellow-billed girl from one of the tribes,” laughed Jack Ritchie, stumbling over a camel thorn bush.
“No, she’s not,” Teuns related. “I’m sure she’s white, and I have a feeling she’s of high standing. We picked up her powder compact. It’s pure gold.”
“What?” asked Fritz Mundt, astonished, stumbling over his own feet.
“The scoundrels must have abducted her,” Podolski reckoned. “I swear it’s Doelaks.”
“Not Doelaks, but Berbers,” Teuns corrected Podolski.
The men all looked up surprised, their eyes wide and thoughtful. Berbers, they knew the cruelty and cunning of these mountain tri
