Marching Sands
Gray silently thrust his manacled hands further out of sight, wishing himself anywhere but here. Covered with the grime of a week's hike across the plain, with a stubby beard on his chin, eyes bleared with sand, and his hat lost, he must look the part of a horse lifter—and Mirai Khan's appearance did not conduce to confidence.
"Is this true?" the girl asked. Again the elfin spirit of amusement seemed to dance in the gray eyes.
"Every word of it," he said frankly. Searching for words to explain, his shyness gripped him. "That is, Mirai Khan was undoubtedly taking your ponies, but I didn't know what he was up to"
He broke off, mentally cursing his awkwardness. It is not easy to converse equably with a self-possessed young lady, owner of a damaging pair of cool, gray eyes. Especially when one is battered and bound by suspicious and efficient servants.
"Why didn't you come direct to the yurt?" she observed tentatively.
"Because I thought you might be—a Chinaman."
"A Chinaman!" The small head perched inquisitively aslant "But I'm not, Captain Gray. Why should I be? Why should you dislike the Chinese?"
Two things in her speech interested Gray. She seemed to be an Englishwoman. And she had given him his army rank, although he himself had not
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