“Well, that’ll wake you up all right,” he laughed, and therewith left the tent.
She thought him very ungracious, after all the work she had done for him. “I suppose he wanted me to clean his boots,” she muttered.
[CHAPTER XIII—THE NEW LIFE]
Perched on the make-shift saddle of a baggage-camel at an apparently break-neck height above the ground, Muriel still had the feeling that she was playing an elaborate game as she jogged along beside Daniel’s taller and more magnificent beast, with its gaily coloured tassels and trappings, and its rich white sheepskin upon which its rider was seated. Behind them rode a black-bearded son of the desert, with a white bernous over his head, silver-mounted pistols stuck into his sash, and a rifle slung over his shoulders. Daniel was holding her guiding-rope, and her two hands were therefore free, as she bounced up and down, to cling on to the sides of the saddle—a circumstance for which she was grateful, although it caused her to feel like a captive being led into slavery.
At the gate of the hotel her companion’s camel knelt at a word from him, and he dismounted; but in her own case her less accustomed mount was not so easily induced to go down on its knees, and startled by its antics, she recklessly slid from the saddle and hung for a moment at its side, her legs kicking about in the air. A moment later she tumbled into Daniel’s arms, and presently found herself deposited, like a piece of baggage, upon the doorstep, in front of Mrs. Bindane, who happened to be standing in the entrance bullying the hall porter.
“Hullo,” said Kate, casually, “the washing’s come home.”
Muriel felt herself all over carefully, as though to make sure that her anatomy was still reasonably complete, and then, linking her arm in that of her friend, described to her the day’s strenuous events; while Daniel, feeling that his presence was not required during these confidences, went over to his attendant to give him his instructions.
“My dear,” said Muriel enthusiastically, “we’ve made a lovely camp out there. It’s like a story out of the Arabian Nights.”
Kate Bindane looked at her suspiciously. “Well, you be careful of those stories,” she said. “They generally need a lot of expurgation before they’re fit for family reading. Isn’t this the man you told me kept a harîm in the desert?”
“So they say,” she answered. “Anyway he’s evidently given it up.”