The last Dervish had clattered down the khor, and now above them on either cliff they could see the Egyptians—tall, thin, square shouldered figures, looking, when outlined against the blue sky, wonderfully like the warriors in the ancient bas-reliefs. Their camels were in the background, and they were hurrying to join them. At the same time others began to ride down from the farther end of the ravine, their dark faces flushed and their eyes shining with the excitement of victory and pursuit. A very small Englishman, with a straw-coloured moustache and a weary manner, was riding at the head of them. He halted his camel beside the fugitives and saluted the ladies. He wore brown boots and brown belts with steel buckles, which looked trim and workmanlike against his khaki uniform.
“Had ’em that time—had ’em proper!” said he. “Very glad to have been of any assistance, I’m sure. Hope you’re none the worse for it all. What I mean, it’s rather rough work for ladies.”
“You’re from Halfa, I suppose?” asked the Colonel.
“No, we’re from the other show. We’re the
