Marching Sands
indicated our course, and I will not yield the right of way to Captain Gray, or any one. Any one, I repeat, sir!"
He struck the table forcibly and rose, mastering his emotion in a moment.
"I pray, sir," he said with the fine courtesy of the English gentleman, "if we are to be rivals, you will not deny us the pleasure of your company while we are at Ansichow. After that, you know, it is each man for himself. Now, I will go to read over my rubbing"
He bowed stiffly and walked into the adjoining tent. Gray found that the girl was watching him curiously.
"So Delabar went back," she said musingly. "I wondered why he was not with you when you came to my yurt after Ram Singh"
She colored slightly. Gray noticed how the fading sunlight glinted on her copper hair, and set off the fine lines of her slender figure. A thorough-bred, he thought—like her uncle.
"Ram Singh did exactly right," he admitted. "But how"
"Did I expect Delabar?" She hesitated. "Well, I have a confession, too, Captain Gray. I knew all along—or rather suspected—what you were. At Calcutta Sir Lionel received this letter."
She felt in her belt and drew out a square of folded paper. This she handed silently to Gray.
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