The news & observer. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1894-current, 1904-05-08
BY A. CONAN DOYLE.

Hilary Joyce slumbered in the heat,
and in the cool he inspected his
uare-Shouldered spindle-Shanked
Soudanese with their CHEEKY black
faces and their funny little pork-pie
forage caps. Joyce was a martinez
at drill, and the blacks loved being
drilled, so the Bimbashi was soon
popular among them. But one day
was exactly like another. The wealth
er, the view, the employment, the
food-everything was the same. AT
the end of three weeks he felt that
he had been there for interminable
years. And then at last there came
something to break the monotony.
One evening as the sun was sinking
Hilary Joyce rode slowly down the
old caravan road. 1t had a fascina-
ton for him, this narrow track, wind
ing among the powders and curving
up the murahS, for he remembered
how in the map it lad gone on and
on, stretching away into the unknown
heart of Africa. The countless pads
of innumerable camcIs through many
centuries had beaten it smooth, SO
that now, unused and deserted, it
still wound away, the strangest of
roads, foot broad, and perhaps two
thousand miles in length. Joyce Won
dered as he rode how long it was since
i1ly Traveller Ildu JOuflleNe1 up 1t from
the south, and then he raised his eyes
and there was man coming along the
path.
Tor an instant Joyce thought that
it might be one of his own men, but
a second glance assured him that this
could not be so. The stranger was
dressed in the flowing robes of an
Arab, and not in the close-fitting KHAKI
of soldier. He was very tall, and
high turban made him seem gi
Santic. He strobe swiftly along, with
head erect and the bearing of a man
who knows no fear.
Who could he be. this formidable
giant coming out of the unknown?
The precursor possibly of n horde of
savage spearmen. And where could
he have walked from? The nearest
we'll was long hundred miles down
the track. At any rate, the frontier
post of Kurkur could not afford to
receive casual visitors. Hilary Joyce
Whisked around his horse, galloped
into camp and gave the alarm. Then
with twenty horSemen at his back, he
rode out again to reconnoitre.
The man was still coming on, in
spite of these hostile preparations.
For an instant he had hesitated when
first he saw the cavalry, but escape
was out of the question, and he adj
vanced with the air of one who makes
the best of a bad job. He made no
resistance, and said nothing when the
hands of two troopers clutched at his
shoulders but walked quietly be-
tween their horses into camp. Shortly
afterward the patrols came in again.
There We're no signs of any Dervishes
The man was alone. A splendid trot-
ting camel had been found lying dead
a little way down the track. The mys-
terry of the strangers arrival was eX-
planned. But why, and whence, and
whittier? These were questions for
which a Jealous officer must find an
answer.
Hilary Joyce was disappointed that
there We're no Dervishes. 1t would
have been a great start for him in
the Egyptian army had he fought a
little action on his own account. But
even as it was he had a rare chance
of impressing the authorities. He
would love to show his capacity to
the head of the Intelligence, and even
more to the grim chief, who never
forgot what was smart, or forgave
what was slack. The prisoners dress
and bearing showed that he was of
importance. Mean men do not ride
pure bred trotting eamels. Joyce
Sponged his head with cold water,
drank cup of strong coffee, put on
an imposing official tarboosh instead
of his sun helmet and formed him
self into a court of inquiry and judg-
ment under the acacia tree.
He would have liked his people to
have seen him now, with his two black
orderlies in waiting, and his Egyptian
native officer at his side. He sat be
hind a camp table, and the prisoner,
strongly guarded was led up to him
Ea
bold gray eyes and long black beard.
"Why." cried Joyce, the rascal is
making faces at me-"
A curious contraction had passed
over the mans features, but so swift
ly that it might have been Il nervous
twitch. He was now model of ORR
entail gravity.
ASK him who he is, and what he
wants."
The native officer did so, but tho
stranger made no reply, save that tn.
same sharp spasm passed once more
over his face.
"Wen. I'm blessed" cried Hilary
joyce. "Of all the impudent scoun-
drels! lie keeps on winkng at me.
Who arc you, you rascal? Give an
account of yourself! Dye hear?'
But the tall Arab was as impervious
to English as to Arabic. The Egyp-
tltD lF1e0 again anu SlS'tlli- iit PTS
oner looked at Joyce with his inscru-
table eyes, and occasionally twitched
his face at him, but never opened his
mouth. The Bimbashi scratched his
head in bcwildermcnt.
Look here, Mahomet Ali, we've got
to get some sense out Of this fellow.
You say there are no papers on him -
mo, sir; we found no papers
''No clue of any kind p
HE has come far, sir. trottlnS
camel does not die easily. He has
come from Dongola, at least
We'll we must get him to talk.
at is possible that he is deaf and
dumb
mot he. / never saw man look
more all there in my life.
You might send him across to
Assouan."
"And give some one else the credit?
No, thank you. This is my bird. But
how are we going to get him to find
his tongue?''
The Egyptians dark eyes skirted
the encampment and rested on the
cooks fire.
Perhaps" said he, "if the BIN
bashi thought fit He looked at
the prisoner and then at the burning
wood.