The scouts were sitting by their beasts, as Dick knew they would. The
light of the dung-fires flickered on their bearded faces, and the camels
bubbled and mumbled beside them at rest. It was no part of Dick's policy to go
into the desert with a convoy of supplies. That would lead to impertinent
questions, and since a blind non-combatant is not needed at the front, he would
probably be forced to return to Suakin.
He must go up alone, and go immediately.
"Now for one last bluff--the biggest of all," he said. "Peace be with you,
brethren!" The watchful George steered him to the circle of the nearest fire.
The heads of the camel-sheiks bowed gravely, and the camels, scenting a
European, looked sideways curiously like brooding hens, half ready to get to
their feet.
"A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line tonight," said Dick.
"A Mulaid?" said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed that he
knew.
"A Bisharin," returned Dick, with perfect gravity. "A Bisharin without saddle-
galls. Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head."
Two or three minutes passed. Then--"We be knee-haltered for the night. There is
no going out from the camp."
"Not for money?"
"H'm! Ah! English money?"
Another depressing interval of silence.
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