When we got to the far end where the hog-back terminated above the desert, we found that, as we had thought, the sheer part was nothing like so high as nearer to the main cliff. Also it was not so smooth. There were lines of jagged broken strata and projecting folds of rock and crevices, and Forsyth considered it was easily climbable.
“Well, now, the thing is to camp by that water. There is a little grazing for the camels, the same kind as you find at the other side of the desert, so they can’t take any harm from it. It will be something green for them to chew,” said I.
“Yes,” answered Wrexham, “and then, directly we’ve had a mouthful of food, Alec and I, with Payindah, will come over here again and reconnoitre the way up. You say Payindah climbs fairly well. Firoz is rather heavy-footed on a hill. You and Aryenis can stop in camp and see things fixed up. A restful afternoon won’t do either of you any harm, especially with that face of yours.”
My wound was healing up cleanly, much to Forsyth’s and still more to my own satisfaction; but it was inclined to be painful, especially at night, and a quiet afternoon would be by no means unwelcome, more particularly as there would be Aryenis to keep me company. It’s funny how circumstances alter things. I suppose it was the unusual surroundings which had thrown us together so much during the last four days, but I couldn’t help feeling that I had known her for years and years—in fact, absurd as it sounds, I really at the moment couldn’t picture any kind of existence in which she would be absent. Probably the wide loneliness of the desert had much to do with it.
About midday the reconnoitring party set off. Aryenis and I walked out far enough from the pool where we had camped to be able to see the arch.
While the others were making their way across the sand to the end of the hill, Aryenis turned to me and reminded me that I had not yet told how we had found our way to the hills across the desert. So I gave her an outline of the story of old John Wrexham’s journey, and the things he had written in his diary. Then I went on to tell her how Wrexham had come up in 1919 to prospect, and of the man he had found.
“But how wonderful to think that a single man could have made his way so far across the desert. And how extraordinary your friend’s finding him in the way he did. I wonder who he could have been. Were there any things on him to tell?”
“Yes; there was a picture which we have with us here, and we think it must be one of his sister because of the writing on it. I’ll get it, if you like.... Why, what is it?”
Aryenis’s exclamation of wonder had stopped me.
“A picture of his sister! But we were sure he had died in the gate when the Shamans captured him! Tell me,” she went on breathlessly, “was the name ‘Euphrosine’ on the picture? A girl with brown hair and blue eyes?”