“How far are we from the Mongar Camp?” Lenora asked.
“About a day’s tramp,” Quest replied quickly. “We may reach there by nightfall.”
“Then let’s start walking at once, before it gets any hotter,” Lenora suggested.
Quest patted her on the back. They made a close search of the tents but found that the Arabs had taken everything in the way of food and drink, except a single half-filled tin of drinking water. They moistened their lips with this carefully, Quest with the camphor in his hand. They found it good, however, though lukewarm. Laura produced a packet of sweet chocolate from her pocket.
“It’s some breakfast, this,” she remarked, as she handed it round. “Let’s get a move on.”
“And if I may be permitted to make the suggestion,” the Professor advised, “not too much chocolate. It is sustaining, I know, but this sweetened concoction encourages thirst, and it is thirst which we have most to—from which we may suffer most inconvenience.”
“One, two, three—march!” Laura sung out. “Come on, everybody.”
They started bravely enough, but by mid-day their little stock of water was gone, and their feet were sorely blistered. No one complained, however, and the Professor especially did his best to revive their spirits.
“We have come further than I had dared to hope, in the time,” he announced. “Fortunately, I know the exact direction we must take. Keep up your spirits, young ladies. At any time now we may see signs of our destination.”
“Makes one sad to think of the drinks we could have had,” Quest muttered. “What’s that?”