After dispatching two scouts to watch the movements of the caravan, Mohammed and his army of three hundred and five men at once set out toward Bedr (a spot near the coast to the southwest of Medina), hoping to apprehend the caravan at that place. While on the way, he deliberately avoided passing through certain localities whose names were unpleasing to him; for this singular man, who commonly appeared morose, taciturn and phlegmatic, had a nervous temperament that was extraordinarily susceptible to an astonishing variety of idiosyncratic fancies and whims. He would not sit down at night in a dark room; he believed that odd numbers had greater virtue than even ones; he changed color and walked nervously around during heavy storms; and he had a charmingly ingenuous faith in portents. Abu Sufyan, too, believed in signs--when they meant something definite. When he came to a well at Bedr, his eagle eyes spied two ominous date-stones that the careless scouts had dropped near its brink. “Camels from Yathrib!” cried Abu; “these be the scouts of Mohammed!” and he immediately guided his caravan at full speed to the right. His runner meanwhile had reached Mecca where, approaching the Kaba, he forced his camel to kneel; then, cutting off its nose and ears and tearing his shirt-tails to signify that a dreadful calamity impended, the Arabian Paul Revere screamed: “Koreish! Koreish! your caravan is pursued by Mohammed. Help! oh help!” The Meccans, already enraged at the murder of their tribesman at the hands of Moslems during Rejeb, were more than eager for vengeance, and an army of about nine hundred and fifty men at once started for Bedr. But, when they neared that place, a messenger reached them with the news that the caravan had fled on and was already out of danger. A heated discussion arose as to what should be done: since their merchandise was safe, should they return; or, should they take up the presumptuous challenge of the renegade Prophet? While both points of view were being violently argued, another scout came rushing up with the appalling information that the Moslem “numbers are small, but death is astride upon the camels of Yathrib.” Following this alarming prophecy, a retreat had almost been ordered when Abu Jahl, the nasty girl-slapper, taunted his compatriots by calling them cowards, and bade one Amir, a brother of the murdered Meccan, to think of his brother-blood; Amir immediately tore off his garments, covered himself with dust and began to shriek his brother’s name aloud. Thus their fury was revived, and, though a few craven-hearted ones returned to Mecca, the rest marched posthaste toward the oncoming foe.