“Well, Tarrant,” said Kavanagh, when they had been plodding on for some two hours in dead silence, “have you not got a growl for us?”
“No, I haven’t,” replied the champion grumbler. “I did get a drink at Hasheen, but this poor brute I am riding didn’t, so I leave the growling to him.”
“Sure it ought to be put in the Gazette” cried Grady, waking up. “First grumbler, Tarrant’s camel, vice Tarrant, contented.”
“I never said I was contented,” replied Tarrant.
“Only it is a consolation to know there’s some one worse off than yourself.”
“Meaning the camels?”
“Aye, and not only them. Don’t you remember that 19th Hussar chap who came up the last halt? There was a go!”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you hear? Why, he belonged to Captain Fanshawe’s troop, who went skirmishing about, and caught a sheikh, called Abu Zoolah. Well, he said that a while ago the Mudir of Dongola had offered a thousand dollars for his head, and now it isn’t worth the price of a pint. Just think what a chance to nearly get, and miss! There’s a lot of beer in a thousand dollars.”
“Sure, yes, that’s hard lines,” observed Grady. “What fun it would be to go out shooting, and get a thousand dollars for every man you bagged.”