"What do you make them out to be, Zaki? Your eyes are better than mine. They may be Colonel Parsons' force, and on the other hand they may be Dervishes, who have closed in behind him to cut off his retreat."
"They are not Dervishes, master," Zaki said, after a long, steady look. "They have not white turbans. Some of their clothes are light, and some dark; but all have dark caps, like those the Soudanese troops wear."
"That is good enough, Zaki. We will turn our robes inside out, so as to hide the patches, as otherwise we might have a hot reception."
When they were a quarter of a mile from the village, several men started out from the bushes, rifle in hand. They were all in Egyptian uniform.
"We are friends!" Gregory shouted in Arabic. "I am an officer of the Khedive, and have come from Omdurman, with a message to your commander."
A native officer, one of the party, at once saluted.
"You will find the bey in the village, Bimbashi."
"How long have you been here?"