or units.
Yes. I only wish what will be best for my people and Algeria. One moves with
the winds of the desert. Or one dies. I shall be truthful with you, Durell. As
an old comrade, you will understand. I know why you are here. I knew you were
coming before you left Paris. Our intelligence is very, very good. I knew your
friend, Orrin Boston. He was my friend, too. We talked often about you. I have
said prayers for him since his death.”
“Was Orrie negotiating with you?”
“Yes.”
“For a truce?” Durell asked tentatively.
El-Abri smiled thinly. It was like a movement in granite.
“You are an astute man. I trusted Orrin Boston. Yes, I was negotiating for a
truce with the French. After the extremists came in, I searched my conscience
for the right and wrong of this war. The extremists use violence, murder,
looting. They think they can win the rebellion this way and hope for stability
afterward. I believe otherwise. I believe in negotiation to achieve Algerian
aims. For this reason—and because your enemies, too, seek to blow up the sands
of the Sahara to obscure their own aims against you—I was prepared to surrender
with my two thousand men to the French.”
Durell sat back in die hard wooden chair. Nothing changed in
his face, but he knew the importance of el-Abri’s announcement. Few of the rebels
had dared to surrender, in view of the extremist ten-or behind them. If a truce
here could be achieved, a chain reaction might result that could bring reason
and eventual peace in a reasonable time. He understood now what Orrin Boston
was trying to do. Peace anywhere in the world” was worth any effort, and
desirable for the West.
‘What stopped your
plans to surrender, then?” Durell asked. “You haven’t laid down your arms,
Hadji.”
The Berber said flatly, “Because I was betrayed.”
“Not by Orrin Boston,” Durell said.
“No, no. By his assistant, that man L’Heureux. The man you
claim as your prisoner.” The Kabyle’s eyes were like hard topaz as he leaned
forward into the light of the kerosene lamp. “Listen and understand, Durell.
You think it will perhaps be a small thing if I surrender with my small force
of men. Maybe so. A small event in a large and troubled world. But who knows
which straw, Durell, will tip the scales for or against the Western world?”
Durell nodded. “Hadji, you know me of old. If I fight
for anything, it is to see men live in peace, through reason, not locked in a
struggle to kill each other.”
“Yes, you were always i e that,”
el-Abri mused.
“Well, I was prepared to surrender, granted amnesty.
It was all arranged by Orrin Boston, and Captain DeGrasse
knew my intentions. But I was betrayed, as I said. As I took my men down out of
the mountains, I marched them unwittingly into an ambush. The ambush was not
made by the French. It was sprung by my so-called brothers of the extremists.
Someone informed them of my readiness to negotiate, and because of their
fanaticism and zeal, they set a trap for me. It was a massacre, my friend. Many
of my men fell.”
“But you escaped,” Durell said quietly.
“Yes. And we took one of the extremists a prisoner. We made
him talk It was not easy. Nothing is easy in the desert. The prisoner was a
lieutenant, and I had to torture him before his tongue loosened. He told me
that your agent, Charles L’Heureux, working for Orrin Boston, tipped his
commanders that I was coming out of the mountains to negotiate a surrender. So
they waited for me and tried to wipe us out. They failed. And now I know that
L'Heureux killed your friend and mine, Orrin Boston, when Boston learned of
L’Heureux’ part in the affair. The blood of many of my men are on this man’s
hands. And he is the man you have come to take
back with you as a prisoner.”
Durell nodded. From outside the hut came the measured tread
of a guards boots on the rocky shale at the edge of the wadi. The wind had
changed. The chill of a desert night was in the
Yes. I only wish what will be best for my people and Algeria. One moves with
the winds of the desert. Or one dies. I shall be truthful with you, Durell. As
an old comrade, you will understand. I know why you are here. I knew you were
coming before you left Paris. Our intelligence is very, very good. I knew your
friend, Orrin Boston. He was my friend, too. We talked often about you. I have
said prayers for him since his death.”
“Was Orrie negotiating with you?”
“Yes.”
“For a truce?” Durell asked tentatively.
El-Abri smiled thinly. It was like a movement in granite.
“You are an astute man. I trusted Orrin Boston. Yes, I was negotiating for a
truce with the French. After the extremists came in, I searched my conscience
for the right and wrong of this war. The extremists use violence, murder,
looting. They think they can win the rebellion this way and hope for stability
afterward. I believe otherwise. I believe in negotiation to achieve Algerian
aims. For this reason—and because your enemies, too, seek to blow up the sands
of the Sahara to obscure their own aims against you—I was prepared to surrender
with my two thousand men to the French.”
Durell sat back in die hard wooden chair. Nothing changed in
his face, but he knew the importance of el-Abri’s announcement. Few of the rebels
had dared to surrender, in view of the extremist ten-or behind them. If a truce
here could be achieved, a chain reaction might result that could bring reason
and eventual peace in a reasonable time. He understood now what Orrin Boston
was trying to do. Peace anywhere in the world” was worth any effort, and
desirable for the West.
‘What stopped your
plans to surrender, then?” Durell asked. “You haven’t laid down your arms,
Hadji.”
The Berber said flatly, “Because I was betrayed.”
“Not by Orrin Boston,” Durell said.
“No, no. By his assistant, that man L’Heureux. The man you
claim as your prisoner.” The Kabyle’s eyes were like hard topaz as he leaned
forward into the light of the kerosene lamp. “Listen and understand, Durell.
You think it will perhaps be a small thing if I surrender with my small force
of men. Maybe so. A small event in a large and troubled world. But who knows
which straw, Durell, will tip the scales for or against the Western world?”
Durell nodded. “Hadji, you know me of old. If I fight
for anything, it is to see men live in peace, through reason, not locked in a
struggle to kill each other.”
“Yes, you were always i e that,”
el-Abri mused.
“Well, I was prepared to surrender, granted amnesty.
It was all arranged by Orrin Boston, and Captain DeGrasse
knew my intentions. But I was betrayed, as I said. As I took my men down out of
the mountains, I marched them unwittingly into an ambush. The ambush was not
made by the French. It was sprung by my so-called brothers of the extremists.
Someone informed them of my readiness to negotiate, and because of their
fanaticism and zeal, they set a trap for me. It was a massacre, my friend. Many
of my men fell.”
“But you escaped,” Durell said quietly.
“Yes. And we took one of the extremists a prisoner. We made
him talk It was not easy. Nothing is easy in the desert. The prisoner was a
lieutenant, and I had to torture him before his tongue loosened. He told me
that your agent, Charles L’Heureux, working for Orrin Boston, tipped his
commanders that I was coming out of the mountains to negotiate a surrender. So
they waited for me and tried to wipe us out. They failed. And now I know that
L'Heureux killed your friend and mine, Orrin Boston, when Boston learned of
L’Heureux’ part in the affair. The blood of many of my men are on this man’s
hands. And he is the man you have come to take
back with you as a prisoner.”
Durell nodded. From outside the hut came the measured tread
of a guards boots on the rocky shale at the edge of the wadi. The wind had
changed. The chill of a desert night was in the
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