“I have a guide,” he said with his adorable naivete.

Eg-Anteouen, in the same squatting position, kept on patching his old slipper.

I took a step toward him.

“You heard what I said to the Captain?”

“Yes,” the Targa answered calmly.

“I am going with him.  We leave you at Tit, to which place you must bring us.  Where is the place you proposed to show the Captain?”

“I did not propose to show it to him; it was his own idea,” said the Targa coldly.  “The grottos with the inscriptions are three-days’ march southward in the mountains.  At first, the road is rather rough.  But farther on, it turns, and you gain Timissao very easily.  There are good wells where the Tuareg Taitoqs, who are friendly to the French, come to water their camels.”

“And you know the road well?”

He shrugged his shoulders.  His eyes had a scornful smile.

“I have taken it twenty times,” he said.

“In that case, let’s get started.”

We rode for two hours.  I did not exchange a word with Morhange.  I had a clear intuition of the folly we were committing in risking ourselves so unconcernedly in that least known and most dangerous part of the Sahara.  Every blow which had been struck in the last twenty years to undermine the French advance had come from this redoubtable Ahaggar.  But what of it?  It was of my own will that I had joined in this mad scheme.  No need of going over it again.  What was the use of spoiling my action by a continual exhibition of disapproval?  And, furthermore, I may as well admit that I rather liked the turn that our trip was beginning to take.  I had, at that instant, the sensation of journeying toward something incredible, toward some tremendous adventure.  You do not live with impunity for months and years as the guest of the desert.  Sooner or later, it has its way with you, annihilates the good officer, the timid executive, overthrows his solicitude for his responsibilities.  What is there behind those mysterious rocks, those dim solitudes, which have held at bay the most illustrious pursuers of mystery?  You follow, I tell you, you follow.

* * * * *

“Are you sure at least that this inscription is interesting enough to justify us in our undertaking?” I asked Morhange.

My companion started with pleasure.  Ever since we began our journey I had realized his fear that I was coming along half-heartedly.  As soon as I offered him a chance to convince me, his scruples vanished, and his triumph seemed assured to him.

“Never,” he answered, in a voice that he tried to control, but through which the enthusiasm rang out, “never has a Greek inscription been found so far south.  The farthest points where they have been reported are in the south of Algeria and Cyrene.  But in Ahaggar!  Think of it!  It is true that this one is translated into Tifinar.  But this peculiarity does not diminish the interest of the coincidence:  it increases it.”