Habby marched from his wagon, twisted with various emotions.  His handsome features reflected the  anger, fear and deep dread he felt inside.  When he arrived by the communal fire at the camp centre, he noted that there were already a few Elders and clan members gathered.  The weather, typical for a late January night in the valley,  was cold and clear.  In the heavens, a half moon was already visible above the mountains.  Around it, stars twinkled and bathed the sky with tiny glistening points of light.  The snow capped mountains surrounding the valley, reflected this light, giving an impression of false brightness. Understandably, Habby was unable to appreciate the beauty the scenery offered.

  Around the fire, the gathered Gypsies watched as he approached Paco Borrionerro.  By now, it was already common knowledge in the camp, that Manana was missing.  Nobody would ask Habby what assistance he needed, as the affected party, it was for him to ask their help.

Now that Habby had confided his problem publicly, it was now up to the Elders to offer their assistance.

Paco faced Habby.  “Would you like to sound the horn?” He asked.

  “I would,” came the reply.

  Paco turned and walked away to his caravan.  He returned almost immediately, carrying an object wrapped in a velvet sheet.  Holding it carefully in front of him, he approached Habby and presented it to him with solemn formality.  Accepting it, Habby removed the velvet cover, and laid it gently aside.

  This was the ‘Horn of Call’.  It had been passed down from their first ancestors through the generations.  It measured over a metre in length, and had been delicately carved from the antler of a creature that had vanished from the Earth a long time ago.  On the outside, it  was adorned with eagle feathers and beading. The ivory itself, had had strange symbols and heliographs carved into it that were so ancient, there was no longer anybody in the clan who understood their significance.  They were now simply a forgotten remnant of the tribes distant past.  As the Horn was used only in an emergency, or for very special ceremonial purposes, it had been a long time since last its last sounding.

  Raising the horn to his lips, Habby first tested the resonance with a small blow.  Satisfied with the note, he took a deep breath and gave a long blast that parted air and sent the note ringing throughout the valley. This was the signal that many of the Gypsies had been waiting for.  Almost immediately, the space around the camp centre began to fill up, many people already anticipating the summoning. 

  Within a few minutes, the whole tribe had gathered around the centre.  Men, women, children and even mothers with their children still suckling, had turned up.  Throughout the valley, Gypsies who had business that had taken them away from the camp, heard the call, stopped everything and headed back immediately.

  Habby returned the horn to Paco who placed it on a chair along side its cover.  Here the Horn would remain, until the reason it had been sounded was resolved, one way or another.  Habby strode closer to the fire that dominated the central clearing. 

Silhouetted against the flames, the heat emanating from the blaze brought beads of sweat across his forehead. Red glowing cinders and sparks leapt into the night then drifted upwards with the smoke, while larger logs spat and crackled and started to disintegrate in the immense heat. Yet besides the noise from the fire, a silence was noticeable around the campsite. 

  Looking around the gathered assembly,  Habby spoke loud and clear.  “I have sounded the horn to ask you for help,” he informed them.  “As most of you are probably aware of by now, my daughter is missing.”

  A few murmurs echoed around, confirming what most had already known.

  Habby continued with his plea for help.  “As some of you already know, she left camp to search for herbs around midday.  I will go to search for her and would be grateful for anybody that will lend me assistance.”

  Immediately after Habby finished speaking, there was a general murmur from the crowd, as the problem became discussed between families.  As Habby had expected, there was not a single member who did not step forward to offer whatever assistance they could.

  Manana was a well-loved child.  There wasn’t a person present who would not do all they could to help.  The thought of their own little dove, lost and possibly hurt out in the valley alone, filled everyone with sadness and some fear.

  Habby looked at the volunteers.  “I thank you my friends,” he said.  His voice choked with the affection he felt towards his clan members.  “But I feel it better we organise five search parties, each consisting of ten men and two dogs, to prevent too much noise and confusion”.  “Finally,”  Habby said, looking once more at the faces gathered.  “It would be better if you organised the selection of the search-party among yourselves.”  Habby finished his plea and turned to his friend and the most senior Elder, Paco.

  Paco nodded to Habby, indicating that he approved of Habby’s handling of the situation.  As he drew close to Habby, he placed his arm around Habby’s shoulder.  “Come my friend,” he told him, “let us drink a warm tea before you leave.”

  Habby was impatient to start, but could see the wisdom in Paco’s suggestion.  Arrangements would require at least thirty minutes.  There were the volunteers to select.  Dogs and donkey’s would need preparing.  To light their way and help in their search, fire brands needed collecting.  They would also require a few fast horses, should any messages need sending back to camp.  No one knew why Manana had not returned, but no chances were going to be taken.  The men would be bringing their weapons with them.

  Habby sat with Paco in silence.  As he supped his hot tea, the warm fluid warmed him,  but his anxiety and impatience to start searching were beginning to show.  His mind constantly formed pictures of what may have happened to his daughter.  He wanted to get started, the inactivity just increasing his anxiety.  

  On the table next to Habby stood a clay jug of hot tea, wrapped in thick cotton and hemp to retain its heat.  Prepared from Angelica and comfrey herbs by Loritta, this was to be for Manana, should she be found safely.  They knew she had left camp with normal day clothes, and with the temperature dropping rapidly, hot tea and blankets could mean the difference between life and death.

  At the sound of footsteps approaching the wagon, all eyes to the door.  Anito entered, carrying a shawl worn by Manana only yesterday.  Approaching her husband, she handed him the item of clothing, her eyes betraying the calm she seemed to be showing on the outside.  Taking it, Habby placed his arms around her shoulders.  “We’ll find her,” he assured his wife.  “If we have to Search every rock, cave and even house in this valley, we will find her.”

  Tears had now appeared in Anito’s eyes.  “It is with God as well as us,” she replied.  As she said this, Lorrita walked up and gently took Anito’s hand. Leading her to the bed in the corner, she sat her down, placed a tea in her hand, and tried to comfort her.  There was no more that the women could do.  It was with the men now. 

  Outside, the noise indicated that the search parties were beginning to arrive.  Leaving the caravan, Habby looked around at the assembling volunteers.  Everybody had once more gathered by the fire, and as previously arranged, the volunteers divided into five parties of ten men.  Included in each group were two dogs, picked specifically for their hunting and tracking abilities.  Each search party had also been allocated a pack mule, on which were loaded the supplies of food, drink, blankets, and spare torches.  Nobody knew how long the search would take, but it was best to prepare for any eventuality.  For this reason, the majority of volunteers had come armed, each carrying their own preferred weapons.

  Habby’s attention turned to the dogs.  As if sensing the sombre mood of the occasion, the canines were unusually quit and subdued.  Approaching the handlers who held them securely with hemp rope, he offered a shawl previously worn by his missing daughter to one.

  Taking it reverently, the first handler held it to the nose of his dog who eagerly sniffed it.  Satisfied the dog had familiarised itself with the scent, he then passed it on to the next handler.  This procedure was repeated, until each dog had familiarised itself with the scent. 

   Taking the shawl back from the last handler, Habby packed it in the shoulder bag containing the hot jug of tea from Paco’s.  He moved away from the camp centre, towards a large barrel, placed near the exit corridor.  When he got there, he removed a large stave, around which strips of cloth had been tightly bound then dipped in a slow burning oil. 

Next to the barrel, a small clay bowl containing already ignited oil was burning.  Putting his torch in the bowl, it caught light immediately.  This ritual was carried out by every person actually participating in the search.

  Carrying his flaming brand, Habby took one more look at his fellow searchers.  “Let’s go,” he said.  One by one, each member of the party took a torch from the barrel and lit it.  Habby walked on ahead, out of the inner circle and through the corridor, stopping only when he reached outer ring.  There he removed the shawl once more, and for the second time offered it to the dogs.  Knowing what was expected from them, the dogs eagerly sniffed.

  Manana’s trail was not difficult for the dogs to find. Almost immediately upon leaving camp, the dogs picked managed to pick up her scent.  With excited yapping and barking, they strained at their ropes, trying to follow the now familiar odour.  It was not long before the men became as excited as the dogs. What was supposed to be five orderly parties of searchers, soon became one mass,  as all the groups intermingled in pursuit of the dogs.

Torches held high, fifty men with grim and determined faces left the camp, and headed towards the Silbido pass.  Dogs barked and yelped.  Horses whinnied and donkey’s brayed.  The men themselves set up a call. The lost child’s name was shouted into the night, over and over. 

  From afar, a noisy torch lit procession could be seen moving along the valley floor.  Throughout the valley, people stirred.  Noises carry far at night.  Villagers and townsfolk looked from their houses and noticed the activity at the Gitano camp.  Naturally, they wondered at the meaning of it.  There would be time enough tomorrow to find out what the disturbance was about.  Satisfied that the disturbance did not involve them, they resumed their sleep.