Marching Sands
tze headwaters, and by using these serviceable native huts—which can be taken down and put up quickly—we escape questioning."
So that was the explanation of the clumsy yurts.
"You were not quite so fortunate, Captain Gray? Curious, that, isn't it—when you are only a big game hunter?"
It was on the tip of his tongue to make a clean breast of it, and say that he, also, was seeking Sungan. But it seemed absurd to confess to her that the sole member of the American expedition had been found among the camels of the Hastings caravan. Perhaps he was unconsciously influenced by his desire to be on friendly terms—even such as at present with Mary Hastings.
Every moment of their talk was a keen pleasure to him—more so than he was aware. He reflected how lucky it was that he had run into the other expedition. It was not altogether strange, since they had both started at the same time, and Ansichow was the mutual hopping-off place into the Gobi.
"Will you tell me," he evaded, "how you came to call me Captain Gray before you saw my papers?"
Mary Hastings smiled pleasantly.
"It was an excellent guess, wasn't it? But now I'm quite through my questions." She paused, her brow wrinkled in portentous thought. "I think
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