“Yes; I’ve thought about that a good deal. My own idea is that he must have had some with him as a start. If you remember, the old diary refers to the stream running out about a dozen miles. That would give him a start, nearly a day’s march. He might have carried a load of twenty pounds--say two gallons. He carried little else, presumably a little food. Two small skins at a gallon apiece would have lasted him four days, even allowing for his being wounded. That takes him five days out--say, sixty miles. Remember, he was apparently fighting for his life. “The question is, what did he do after that? My own theory on the point is that he was saved for a time by the rain. You may remember I said--at least I think I told you--that we had had rain on and off for a week. In the diary you remember that my great-great-uncle mentions having noticed some rock outcrops on his way back. Well, they might have hollows in them which would fill up in rain, not necessarily big ones, but things holding a few gallons, like you see in most of the hills about here. A good shower would give him another refill, and so carry him on another thirty miles or so. Probably thereafter there would be no more outcrops, and the last bit he had to do without water, and that--perhaps combined with his wound--is to my mind what finished the poor devil off. Rotten luck pegging out like that only two days short of help. “That theory, by the way, is one of my reasons for heading a bit more south than the course steered by my great-great-uncle. If there _are_ such rock outcrops, and if we have any more rain such as we had last week, we might get an opportunity of giving the camels a bit more to drink.” “Quite a sound bit of deduction. It will be interesting to see if we find any little rock-pools or places that could be pools on the way. Well, I see the men have turned in, and I think we might do worse than follow suit. It’s past nine, and we’ve got to be up at four and see the camels loaded and get a meal before we start.” “I think so, too,” said Forsyth, getting to his feet. “Lord, aren’t the stars extra gorgeous to-night? I wonder if we shall find these people use the old Greek names still?” “Dunno about that, but I’ll take a bet they still say the same kind of things to the same kind of girls out under the same stars. Human nature’s the one thing that does not change much through the ages. History shows you that, all right.” “With you, Harry. It’s the one unchanging factor in a very changeable world. However, what about the bed stakes?” Wrexham, a podgy figure in his _poshtin_, knocked the ashes of his pipe out against the heel of his boot and made for his bedding roll. Ten minutes later we were all rolled up in our blankets, and Forsyth turned down the light. CHAPTER VI THE DESERT