Marching Sands
"I hope," observed Sir Lionel severely, "you warned him of our identity."
"Rather. But he implied he was after big game."
Sir Lionel reached to the light stand and secured a cigarette, which he lit. His eyes hardened purposefully.
"I'll trek for Ansichow, at once. I must buy up all the available camels. If you will retire to your lent, and send my syce"
"Indeed, no." She frowned worriedly. "You haven't had your sleep yet."
Sir Lionel caught her hand in his.
"No, Mary. You must be aware what this expedition means to me. I must be first in Ansichow, and into the Gobi. Failure is not to be thought of. Dear girl, I have thrown my reputation into the dice bowl"
"I know." She patted his hand lightly, and her eyes were serious. "Only I wish you would let me help a little more." She shook free the coils of her bronze hair and placed a small hand firmly over his lips. "I know what you want to say—that you are being ever so kind and indulging to let me come at all. As if I could be left at Simla when you went on your biggest hunt, Uncle Singh. Well," she sighed, "if you must go buy camels, you will. But"—she brightened—"please leave the wandering American to me. I saw him first."
Sir Lionel removed the hand that restricted his
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