“Well, anyway, here we are at the entrance or somewhere near it, and the next thing is how are we going to get in?”
“We’d better push on to-morrow morning and get up to the cliffs, and then start looking round for the valley with the gateway. There’s nothing to be seen from here, so our best course is to follow straight up the stream to wherever it runs into the hills. You remember your great-great-uncle travelled nearly three days skirting them before he found a way in at all.”
“True. Our best course will certainly be the stream. And now we’d better get down to camp and look over things for to-morrow. There’s no more need for the compass, anyway. I’m jolly tired of marching on it all day.” Wrexham led away down the rock slope, and I followed.
After dinner we sat outside and listened to the pleasant ripple of the little stream in the starry stillness. The wind had dropped entirely and the air was clear, so that we could see the sharp outline of the hills against the sky.
“To-morrow we shall know our fate, more or less,” said Wrexham, “as to whether we can get into these hills peacefully or not. But I think we ought to be prepared for possible trouble, so a couple of us had better work ahead. There’s no difficulty about keeping our direction, since all we’ve got to do is to follow the stream. What do you think, Harry? You’re the professional soldier man.”
“Quite agree. I think, if I and Payindah keep half a mile or so ahead and you keep the two camels well closed up, we shall get warning in time of any one moving in front. We’re all armed except Sadiq, and he’s safer without anything.”
“If we start at 7.30 A.M. we shall be in the hills before midday, and that will give us plenty of time to look around before dark if this is not the actual stream we’re looking for, though I feel sure it must be. A longer rest will do us all good to-night; don’t you think so?”
“Every time, John. I shall be d——d glad to feel that I needn’t stir out of bed before six to-morrow, and when I do, that I can get a decent wash for once in a way. I’m contemplating shaving, too.” Forsyth rubbed his hand over his stubby chin, and then we all remembered our peculiarly dirty appearance, and then and there decided to commence the morrow with a shave, hitherto abandoned owing to lack of water.
“I don’t want to enter the promised land of the Gobi Greeks, or whoever they may be, with ten days’ stubble on my face,” continued Forsyth, who had some consideration for his personal appearance.
“No; you might meet the Lady Euphrosine at the door,” said Wrexham. “I hope you’ve got a string of nice classical compliments ready at the tip of your tongue.”