"Yes, here," said Hafiz, and then pointing with one hand to the hill and with the other to the waste, he said, "You are going that way—I am going this."
"Why so?"
"Why? Do you ask me why? Because the trackers are after us—because they may be here at any moment—because they know there are two of us, but when they find we have separated they'll follow up the man who wears the military boots."
"Hafiz!"
"Well, I wear them, don't I?"
"Do you mean it, Hafiz—that you are going to turn the trackers on to yourself?"
"Way shouldn't I? Lord God! what can they do to me? If they catch me I'll only laugh in their dirty black faces. I'll give them a run before that, though. Bedrasheen, Sakkara, Mena, Gizeh—a man wants some fun after a night like this, you know."
He was laughing as if he were beside himself with excitement.
"By that time you'll be far away from here, please God! Six hours at least—I'll see it's six, Gordon; six hours' start on good camels—across the desert, too—and not a black devil of them all to know what the dickens has become of you."
His fear was as great as ever, but it had suddenly become heroic.