The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1896-10-03
HE lHKEE g.
CORRESPONDENTS
AN ID OF
~ q. CONAN DOYLE. THE SOUDAN CAMPAIGN
copyright. 1896, by A. Conan Doyle,

you the best horse that money can buy.
Mortimer may beat me or j may beat Nor
timer, but at least we know that between
Us we have the fastest ponies In the coun-
try. We have neglected no chance"
Il am not so certain of that" said Nor
timer, slowly. You are aware, of course,
that though a horse beats a camel on TWEEN
ty miles. a camel beats a horse on thirty
What. One of these cameis? ?" cried An
erley, in establishment.
The two seniors burst out laughing.
mo. no: the real high-bred trotter-the
kind of beast the Dervishes ride when they
make their lightning raids"
Faster than a galloping horse?"
We'll. it tires a horse down. 1t goes the
same gait all the way, and it wants neither
halt nor drink, and it takes rough ground
much better than a horse. They used to
have long-distance races at Halfa, and the
camel always won at thirty"
Still, we need not reproaeh ourselves.
Scott, for we are not very likely to have to
carry a thirty-mile message. They will
have the field telegraph next week"
Quite so. But at the present mo-
ment-''
II know. my dear chap; but there is no
motion of urgency before the house. Load
baggles at . o'clock; SO you have just three
hours clear. Any sign of the evening PEN
nies?"
Mortimer swept the northern horizon
with his binoculars.
Not in sight yet"
They are quite capable of travelling dur
ing the heat OF the day. Just the sort of
thing evening pennies would do. Take care
of your match, Anerley. These palm groves
go up like a powder magazine if you set
them alight. By-by. Then two men
crawled under their mosquito nets and sank
Instantly into the easy sleep of those whose
lives are spent in the open.
Young Anerley stood with his back
against a palm tree and his briar between
his lips thinking over the advice which he
had received. After all. they were the
heads of the profession, these men, and 1t
was not for him, the newcomer. to reform
their methods. If they served their papers
in this fashion, then he must do the same.
They had at least been frank and generous
in teaching him the rules of the game. If
it was good enough for them, it was good
enough for him.
1t was a boiling afternoon and those
thin frills of foam round the black glis-
tening necks of the Nile powders looked
delightfully."- cool and alluring. But it would
not be safe to battle for some hours to
come. The air shimmered and vibrated
over the baking stretch of sand and rock.
There was not a breath of wind, and the
droning and piping of the insects inclined
one for sleep. Somewhere above a hoopoe
was calling. Anerley knocked out his ashes
and was turning toward his couch, when
his eye caught something moving in the
desert to the south.
1t was a horseman riding towards them
as swiftly as the broken ground would
permit. y messenger from the army,
thought Anerley, and then as he watched
the sun suddenly struck the man on the
side of the head and his chin famed into
gold. There could not be two horsemen
with boards of such a color. 1t was Mer-
ryweather, the engineer, and he was re-
turning. What on earth was he returning
for? He had been so keen to see the gen.
eral and yet he was coming back with
his mission unaccomplished. Was it that
his pony was hopelessly. foundered? 1t
seemed to be moving we'll. Anerley picked
up Mortimer's binoculars and a foam-spat-
tered horse and a weary Notwithstanding
man came cantering up the center of the
field. There was nothing in his appearance
to explain the mystery of his return.
Then as he watched them they dipped
down into a hollow and disappeared. He
could see that it was one of those narrow
khors which led to the river, and he waited,
glass in hand, for their immediate reap
pearance. But minute passed after minute,
and there was no sign of them. That mar
row gully appeared to have swallowed them
up. And then with u curious guIp and
start he saw a little gray cloud wreathe
itself slowly from among the rocks and
drift in a long, haZy shred over the des-
ert. In an instant he had torn Scott and
Mortimer from their slumbers.
Get up, you chaps!' he cried. Il be-
lieve M~erryweather has been shot by Der
wishes.
(To be Continued in Mondays J%ournal.)
TO LIvE Ell N HAPPY