"No, it's all right—it's nothing——"
"Let me see, you old chump——"
"It's all right, I tell you. It's been taken care of—it's just a relic of Cairo."
"Cairo!" Slowly Burroughs let fall the hand he had laid upon Billy's arm. "You do seem to be having a lively trip," he commented, grinning. "Here, hurry up, you rascals, hurry up with that big jug."
Taking the large jar from them, he returned to the tomb, stopping abruptly at sight of Arlee's weary abandon. She half sat up, a frail, exhausted little figure, whose grace was strangely appealing through all her sandy dishevelment.
"Some water—for washing," he stammered.
"You're very thoughtful."
"I'll have to beg your pardon," he blurted, for Burroughs was no squire of dames. "I thought you were a little girl and spoke to you as if——"
"It's just the hairpins that make the difference, isn't it?" said Arlee, with a whimsical smile. "I don't suppose you have any of those in camp that I could borrow?"
He shook his head regretfully. Then his brain seized upon the problem. "Bent wires?" he suggested. "I might try——"