MARCHING SANDS BY HAROLD LAMB D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK : LONDON : 1920 COPYRIGHT, 1920, D. APPLETON AND COMPANY Copyright, 1919, by Frank A. Munsey Company CONTENTS I. The Lost People II. Legends III. Delabar Discourses IV. Warning V. Intruders VI. Mirai Khan VII. The Door Is Guarded VIII. Delabar Leaves IX. The _Liu Sha_ X. The Mem-Sahib Speaks XI. Sir Lionel XII. A Message from the Centuries XIII. The Desert XIV. Traces in the Sand XV. A Last Camp XVI. Gray Carries On XVII. The Yellow Robe XVIII. Bassalor Danek XIX. Concerning a City XX. The Talisman XXI. Mary Makes A Request XXII. The Answer XXIII. The Challenge XXIV. A Stage Is Set XXV. Rifle against Arrow XXVI. The Bronze Circlet MARCHING SANDS CHAPTER I THE LOST PEOPLE "You want me to fail." It was neither question nor statement. It came in a level voice, the words dropping slowly from the lips of the man in the chair as if he weighed each one. He might have been speaking aloud to himself, as he sat staring directly in front of him, powerful hands crossed placidly over his knees. He was a man that other men would look at twice, and a woman might glance at once--and remember. Yet there was nothing remarkable about him, except perhaps a singular depth of chest that made his quiet words resonant. That and the round column of a throat bore out the evidence of strength shown in the hands. A broad, brown head showed a hard mouth, and wide-set, green eyes. These eyes were level and slow moving, like the lips--the eyes of a man who could play a poker hand and watch other men without looking at them directly. There was a certain melancholy mirrored in the expressionless face. The melancholy that is the toll of hardships and physical suffering. This, coupled with great, though concealed, physical strength, was the curious trait of the man in the chair, Captain Robert Gray, once adventurer and explorer, now listed in the United States Army Reserve. He had the voyager's trick of wearing excellent clothes carelessly, and the army man's trait of restrained movement and speech. He was on the verge of a vital decision; but he spoke placidly, even coldly. So much so that the man at the desk leaned forward earnestly. "No, we don't want you to fail, Captain Gray. We want you to find out the truth and to tell us what you have found out." "Suppose there is nothing to discover?" "We will know we are mistaken." "Will that satisfy you?" "Yes." Captain "Bob" Gray scrutinized a scar on the back of his right hand. It had been made by a Mindanao _kris_, and, as the edge of the _kris_ had been poisoned, the skin was still a dull purple. Then he smiled. "I thought," he said slowly, "that the lost people myths were out of date. I thought the last missing tribe had been located and card-indexed by the geographical and anthropological societies."