“A beast and a driver to go to the fighting line tonight,” said Dick.
“A Mulaid?” said a voice, scornfully naming the best baggage-breed that he knew.
“A Bisharin,” returned Dick, with perfect gravity. “A Bisharin without saddle-galls. Therefore no charge of thine, shock-head.”
Two or three minutes passed. Then—“We be knee-haltered for the night. There is no going out from the camp.”
“Not for money?”
“H'm! Ah! English money?”
Another depressing interval of silence.
“How much?”
“Twenty-five pounds English paid into the hand of the driver at my journey's end, and as much more into the hand of the camel-sheik here, to be paid when the driver returns.”
This was royal payment, and the sheik, who knew that he would get his commission on this deposit, stirred in Dick's behalf.