He flushed, hoping that it did not show under the sand. "Right," he admitted with a rueful smile. "Beneath the mud and dirt, I happen to be an Aryan." "An Englishman?" she asked quickly, almost skeptically, "Or American?" "American," he admitted. "My name is Robert Gray." Her glance flickered curiously at this. He was not too miserable to wonder who she was. What was a white woman doing in this stretch of the Gobi? A white woman who was master, or rather mistress of a large caravan, and seemed quite at home in her surroundings? He wondered why he had flushed. And why he felt so uncomfortable under her quiet gaze. To his utter surprise the frown cleared from her brow, and her lips parted in a quick smile which crept into her eyes. Then she was serious again. But he found that his pulses were throbbing in wrist and throat. "Where did you find this _feringhi_, Ram Singh?" she asked curiously. "Among the camels, _mem-sahib_," promptly answered the man who had spoken before. "His servant was making off the while with our horses." Gray looked around. At the rear of the group, arms pinioned to his sides and his bearded face bearing marks of a struggle, was Mirai Khan. The Kirghiz wore a sheepish expression and avoided his eye. "The servant," explained Ram Singh in stern disapproval, "had untethered two of the ponies. One he had mounted when we seized him. Said I not the plain was rife with horse thieves?" Gray glared at Mirai Khan. "Did I not warn you," he asked angrily, "that there was to be no stealing of animals?" The Kirghiz twisted uneasily in his bonds. "Aye, Excellency. But the ponies seemed unguarded and you had need of one to ride. If these accursed Sikhs had not been watching for horse lifters we would have gone free." The officer swore under his breath, beginning to realize what an unenviable position Mirai Khan had placed him in. Robbing a caravan was no light offense in this country. And the horses had belonged to the woman! Gray silently thrust his manacled hands further out of sight, wishing himself anywhere but here. Covered with the grime of a week's hike across the plain, with a stubby beard on his chin, eyes bleared with sand, and his hat lost, he must look the part of a horse lifter--and Mirai Khan's appearance did not conduce to confidence. "Is this true?" the girl asked. Again the elfin spirit of amusement seemed to dance in the gray eyes. "Every word of it," he said frankly. Searching for words to explain, his shyness gripped him. "That is, Mirai Khan was undoubtedly taking your ponies, but I didn't know what he was up to----" He broke off, mentally cursing his awkwardness. It is not easy to converse equably with a self-possessed young lady, owner of a damaging pair of cool, gray eyes. Especially when one is battered and bound by suspicious and efficient servants. "Why didn't you come direct to the _yurt_?" she observed tentatively. "Because I thought you might be--a Chinaman."