extraordinary mass, gray and soft and swaying.

But what at the first glance overwhelmed us with astonishment was to
see Bou-Djema, usually so calm, at this moment apparently beside
himself with frenzy, bounding through the gullies and over the rocks
of the ledge, in full pursuit of the shipwreck.

Of a sudden I seized Morhange by the arm. The grayish thing was alive.
A pitiful long neck emerged from it with the heartrending cry of a
beast in despair.

"The fool," I cried, "he has let one of our beasts get loose, and the
stream is carrying it away!"

"You are mistaken," said Morhange. "Our camels are all in the cave.
The one Bou-Djema is running after is not ours. And the cry of anguish
we just heard, that was not Bou-Djema either. Bou-Djema is a brave
Chaamb who has at this moment only one idea, to appropriate the
intestate capital represented by this camel in the stream."

"Who gave that cry, then?"

"Let us try, if you like, to explore up this stream that our guide is
descending at such a rate."

And without waiting for my answer he had already set out through the
recently washed gullies of the rocky bank.

At that moment it can be truly said that Morhange went to meet his
destiny.