air was like a damp blanket, to
mistake the chaos of boulder and shingle which meant the channel. But
the mist was close to him and wrapped him in like a quilt, and he looked
in vain for the foot of the nullah he must climb. He tried keeping by
the edge and feeling his way, but it only landed him in a ditch of
stagnant slime. The thing was too vexatious, and his temper went; and
with his temper his last chance of finding his road. When he had
stumbled for what seemed hours he sat down on a boulder and whistled
dismally. The stream belonged to another watershed. If he followed it,
assuming that he did not break his neck over a dry cataract, he would be
through the mountains and near Taghati quicker than he intended.
Meantime the miserable George would wait at Nazri, would rouse the
Khautmi garrison on a false alarm, and would find himself irretrievably
separated from his friend. The thought was so full of irritation, that
he resolved not to stir one step further. He would spend the night if
need be in this place and wait till the mist lifted.

He found a hollow among the boulders, and improvidently ate half his
store of sandwiches. Then, finding his throat dry, he got up to hunt
for water. A trickle afar off in the rocks led him on, and sure enough
he found water; but when he tried to retrace his steps to his former
resting place he found that he had forgotten the way. This new place
was conspicuously less sheltered, but he sat down on the wet gravel, lit
a pipe with difficulty, and with his knees close to his chin strove to
possess his soul in patience.

He was tired, for he had slept little for two days, and the closer air
of the ravine made him drowsy. He had lost any sense of discomfort from
the wet, and was in the numb condition of the utterly drenched. He
could not spend the night like this, so he roused himself and stood
staring, pipe in teeth, into the drizzle. The mist seemed clearer. He
was a little stupid, so he did not hear the sound of feet on stones till
they were almost on him. Then through the haze he saw a procession of
figures moving athwart the channel. They were not his countrymen, for
they walked with the stoop forward which no Englishman can ever quite
master in his hill-climbing. Lewis turned to flee, but in his numbness
of mind and body missed footing, and fell sprawling over a bank of
shingle. He scrambled to his feet only to find hands at his throat, and
himself a miserable prisoner.

The sc