“Hurry up!” Hoessein shouts, turning around, and now he measures Jack Ritchie’s neck.
“Do you believe me now?” Teuns asks.
They are two simple men, only two camel drivers, unreliable and gullible, just as the normal Arab usually is. But if he gets frightened, he will even cut his brother’s throat.
The one glances surreptitiously in the direction of the comb. He gives a step away and gestures with his hand.
“Faoed’s horse,” he says, and it sounds like he is choking on his words.
Teuns also looks in that direction, and the dapple-grey horse in the road comes struggling forward. His two front legs move with difficulty on the rope, and the animal takes small jumps forward. Teuns has forgotten all about it. These desert horses always follow their masters, which is why the dapple-grey is co
