By the way, when you've settled about
your mules, come and see what we can find to eat in my tent. I"m Bennil of the
Gunners--in the artillery lines--and mind you don't fall over my tent-ropes in
the dark."
But it was all dark to Dick. He could only smell the camels, the hay-bales, the
cooking, the smoky fires, and the tanned canvas of the tents as he stood, where
he had dropped from the train, shouting for George. There was a sound of light-
hearted kicking on the iron skin of the rear trucks, with squealing and
grunting. George was unloading the mules.
The engine was blowing off steam nearly in Dick's ear; a cold wind of the
desert danced between his legs; he was hungry, and felt tired and dirty--so
dirty that he tried to brush his coat with his hands. That was a hopeless job;
he thrust his hands into his pockets and began to count over the many times
that he had waited in strange or remote places for trains or camels, mules or
horses, to carry him to his business. In those days he could see--few men more
clearly--and the spectacle of an armed camp at dinner under the stare was an
ever fresh pleasure to the eye. There was colour, light, and motion, without
which no man has much pleasure in living. This night there remained for him
only one more journey through the darkness that never lifts to tell a man how
far he has travelled.
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