Obviously it would have been inhuman to try and drag the flitting soul back to earth and suffering. I even thought that it was cruelty to try and prolong his life with brandy and restoratives. I shuddered as I looked round at the terrible wilderness, and as the conviction was forced upon me that these skeletons and débris of human creatures were the records of thousands of such lonely tragedies as we were now witnessing, since the great hordes of Egypt had found a home in the mysterious oasis of the desert.
For of this fact now there could be no doubt. The dying maniac had, with his last breath, blown away the few remaining clouds of doubt that sat upon my mind.
“I think he is dead,” I said after a long pause, whilst I looked around for some hollow where I could put the body in safety from the carrion.
“May God have more mercy on his soul than human justice has had on his body,” said Hugh, looking down compassionately on the gaunt form of the dead criminal.
We improvised a grave for him. At least he, who had drawn before us the first picture of the land we had come out to seek, should not become a prey to the vultures. It certainly had not been a cheerful picture: people who would invent so terrible a form of punishment, and carry it out wholesale, were not likely to be very kindly disposed towards strangers.
“I cannot understand our late friend’s talk about the gates being closed for ever. Surely an entire country cannot be closed up with gates!” I said, after we had thrown a few handfuls of earth and shingle over the body of the unfortunate wretch.
“I imagine that those hills are very precipitous, probably very difficult of access, save perhaps through some passes or valleys across which the gates may have been built.”
“Anyhow, we had better go straight on and trust to the same good luck which has brought us so far.”
“Do you wonder that an elderly Greek priest should at such a juncture have retraced his steps homewards?”