Richard joined me here for a night, and then in the morning went off
by another route to explore some district round about. I also did some
exploring in another direction.
So we went on from day to day, camping about, or rather gypsying, in the
desert among the Bedawin. I got to love it very much. I often think
with regret of the strange scenes which became a second nature to me: of
those dark, fierce men, in their gaudy, flowing costumes, lying about in
various attitudes; of our encampments at night, the fire or the moonlight
lighting them up, the divans and the pipes, the narghilehs and coffee; of
their wild, mournful songs; of their war-dances; of their story-telling
of love and war, which are the only themes. I got to know the Bedawin
very well during that time, both men and women; and the more I knew them
the better I liked them.
I remember one night, when Richard and I were in our tent, we lay down on
our respective rugs, and I put out the light. Suddenly Richard called to
me, "Come quick! I am stung by a scorpion." I struck a match and ran
over to his rug, and looked at the place he pointed to; but there was a
mere speck of blue, and I was convinced it was only a big black ant. He
did not mind that, so I lay down again. Hardly had I done so when he
called out, "Quick, quick, again! I know it is a scorpion." I again
struck a light, ran over, plunged my hand inside his shirt near the
throat, and drew it out again quickly with a scorpion hanging by its
crablike claws to my finger.
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