Daniel Lane was about to mount his camel as they approached. Muriel waved her hand to him, whereat he pulled off his well-worn hat and laughed aloud.
“That’s odd!” he said. “I had a sort of feeling you’d come.”
Muriel stared at him, and her responding smile died upon her lips.
“We rode in this direction quite at random,” said she, coldly. “I don’t yet know one way from another.”
“Well, you’ve found your way to the desert quickly enough,” he replied. “You know there are some people who seem to be drawn towards it at once.”
Muriel glanced about her. “I think it looks a horrid place,” she said, which was entirely untruthful. “I don’t feel at all drawn to it.”
She turned to Rupert Helsingham. He was slowly riding round the four camels which crouched, grunting, on the sand, in charge of two lean and wild-looking men of the desert, whose appearance was strikingly different from that of the Bedouin of the Pyramids, grown prosperous in their profession as guides and dragomans to the sightseers. Three of the camels were saddled, the seat in each case being covered by a rough sheepskin, and having on either side a coarsely embroidered bag containing food, while a rifle and two water-bottles were slung across the back. The fourth camel, which was to be led by one of the riders, was lightly laden with stores and various purchases made in Cairo, and two small water-skins depended at its sides.
“I travel light, you see,” said Daniel, as Rupert returned to them.
“Yes, you couldn’t otherwise have come in at the pace you did,” he answered. “Are you going back at the same rate?”
Daniel laughed. “Oh, no,” he said. “I shall travel in easy stages, taking five or six days probably—as long as the food lasts, in fact. We can pick up water at the wells, and if we shoot anything we can take it still slower.”