For three nights had Tancred encamped in this wilderness, halting at
some spot where they could find some desert shrubs that might serve as
food for the camels and fuel for themselves. His tent was soon pitched,
the night fires soon crackling, and himself seated at one with the
Sheikh and Baroni, he beheld with interest and amusement the picturesque
and flashing groups around him. Their fare was scant and simple: bread
baked upon the spot, the dried tongue of a gazelle, the coffee of the
neighbouring Mocha, and the pipe that ever consoles, if indeed the
traveller, whatever his hardships, could need any sustenance but his own
high thoughts in such a scene, canopied, too, by the most beautiful sky
and the most delicious climate in the world.
They were in the vicinity of Mount Seir; on the morrow they were to
commence the passage of the lofty range which stretches on to Sinai. The
Sheikh, who had a feud with a neighbouring tribe, and had been anxious
and vigilant while they crossed the open country, riding on with
an advanced guard before his charge, reconnoitring from sandhill to
sandhill, often creeping up and lying on his breast, so as not to be
visible to the enemy, congratulated Tancred that all imminent danger was
past.
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