our gun," said a voice. It was Abbas, his
English-speaking body-servant.

Anerley groaned at the disgrace of it. He had lost his head so
completely that he had forgotten to cock his gun; and yet he knew that
it was not fear but interest which had so absorbed him. He put his hand
up to his head and felt that a wet handkerchief was bound round his
forehead.

"Where are the two other dervishes?"

"They ran away. One got shot in arm."

"What's happened to me?"

"Effendi got cut on head. Effendi catch bad man by arms, and Scott
effendi shot him. Face burn very bad."

Anerley became conscious suddenly that there was a pringling about his
skin and an overpowering smell of burned hair under his nostrils. He
put his hand to his moustache. It was gone. His eyebrows too?
He could not find them. His head, no doubt, was very near to the
dervish's when they were rolling upon the ground together, and this was
the effect of the explosion of his own gun. Well, he would have time to
grow some more hair before he saw Fleet Street again. But the cut,
perhaps, was a more serious matter. Was it enough to prevent him
getting to the telegraph-office at Sarras? The only way was to try and
see. But there was only that poor little Syrian grey of his. There it
stood in the evening sunshine, with a sunk head and a bent knee, as if
its morning's work was still heavy upon it. What hope was there of
being able to do thirty-five miles of heavy going upon that? It would
be a strain upon the splendid ponies of his companions--and they were
the swiftest and most enduring in the country. The most enduring?
There was one creature more enduring, and that was a real trotting
camel. If he had had one he might have got to the wires first after
all, for Mortimer had said that over thirty miles they have the better
of any horse. Yes, if he had only had a real trotting camel! And then
like a flash came Mortimer's words, "It is the kind of beast that the
dervishes ride when they make their lightning raids."

The beasts the dervishes ride! What had these dead dervishes ridden?
In an instant he was clambering up the rocks, with Abbas protesting at
his heels. Had the two fugitives carried away all the camels, or had
they been content to save themselves? The brass gleam from a litter of
empty Remington cases caught his eye, and showed where the enemy had
been crouching. And then he could have shouted for joy, for there, in
the hollow,