With a blow of the tip of his cane Morhange knocked a fragment of rock
from the black flank of the mountain.
"What is it?" he asked, holding it out to me.
"A basaltic peridot," I said.
"It can't be very interesting, you barely glanced at it."
"It is very interesting, on the contrary. But, for the moment, I admit
that I am otherwise preoccupied."
"How?"
"Look this way a bit," I said, showing towards the west, on the
horizon, a black spot across the white plain.
It was six o'clock in the morning. The sun had risen. But it could not
be found in the surprisingly polished air. And not a breath of air,
not a breath. Suddenly one of the camels called. An enormous antelope
had just come in sight, and had stopped in its flight, terrified,
racing the wall of rock. It stayed there at a little distance from us,
dazed, trembling on its slender legs.
Bou-Djema had rejoined us.
"When the legs of the mohor tremble it is because the firmament is
shaken," he muttered.
"A storm?"
"Yes, a storm."
"And you find that alarming?"
I did not answer immediately. I was exchanging several brief words
with Bou-Djema, who was occupied in soothing the camels which were
giving signs of being restive.
Morhange repeated his question. I shrugged my shoulders.
"Alarming? I don't know. I have never seen a storm on the Hoggar. But
I distrust it. And the signs are that this is going to be a big one.
See there already."
A slight dust had risen before the cliff. In the still air a few
grains of sand had begun to whirl round and round, with a speed which
increased to dizziness, giving us in advance the spectacle in
miniature of what would soon be breaking upon us.
With harsh cries a flock of wild geese appeared, flying low. They came
out of the west.
"They are fleeing towards the Sebkha d'Amanghor," said Bou-Djema.
There could be no greater mistake, I thought.
Morhange looked at me curiously.
"What must we do?" he asked.
"Mount our camels immediately, before they are completely
demoralized, and hurry to find shelter in some high places. Take
account of our situation. It is easy to follow the bed of a stream.
But within a quarter of an hour perhaps the storm will have burst.
Within a half hour a perfect torrent will be rushing here. On this
soil, which is almost impermeable, rain will roll like a pail of water
thrown on a bituminous pavement. No depth, all height. Look at this."
And I showed him, a dozen meters high, long hollow gouges, marks of
former erosions on the rocky wall.