He vanished in the dunes to the east, his cloth-wrapped feet moving soundlessly over the sand. Gray watched him go. He could not force the Kirghiz to continue on to Sungan. Even if he tried to do so, he had seen enough to know that from this point on Mirai Khan would be useless to him. Before returning to Sir Lionel he made a circuit of the ridge and inspected the footprints where their enemies of the afternoon had passed. He saw a network of curious prints, marks of broad, splay hoofs. Occasionally, there was a blood stain. He had been too far from the attacking party to notice their feet--and too busy to think about any such matter. But, undeniably, as Mirai Khan had said, here were camel tracks and nothing else. "The devil!" he swore. "I certainly saw those Chinese--and they were men. Probably a trick--it certainly worked well enough to scare my guides." He dismissed the matter with a shrug and made his way back to the tent. "Anything gone wrong?" asked the Englishman. "Nothing new," Gray evaded, unwilling to distress Sir Lionel with the truth. "Then you'll be setting out, I fancy." He spoke with an effort. "I'll do nicely here--if you'll fill my water jar, and light the candle I see beside it. Don't leave me food--can't eat, you know. Deuced hemorrhage----" Gray left him coughing, and filled the jar at the well. Also his own canteen which was slung at his belt. He lit the candle and placed it in the sand by the Englishman. Sir Lionel counted the cigarettes that lay beside the candle. "They'll last--long enough," he whispered. "Close the tent, please, when you go out." As if a giant hand had blotted out the light, the tent became darker. Sir Lionel looked up. "Sunset," he muttered, "no parade. I'll keep to my barracks." Gray turned away. He could see that the man was nerving himself to be alone, and mustering his strength for the coming ordeal. The Englishman was utterly brave. The American adjusted the blankets, and placed the remaining food--some flour cakes--in his shirt. Sir Lionel forced a smile. "Right!" he whispered. "Strike due west--moonlight will show you compass bearings. Watch out for the ruins. Know you'll get Mary out, if it can be done. Good-by and good luck!" "You're game!" exclaimed Gray involuntarily. "Good-by." The Englishman adjusted his eyeglass as they shook hands. "Remember--due west." Gray glanced back as he closed the curtains of the tent and tied the flap cords. Sir Lionel was lighting himself a cigarette at the candle. That was the last he saw of Major Hastings. Sir Lionel died without complaint, a brave man doing his duty as best he could. CHAPTER XVI GRAY CARRIES ON As his friend had predicted, Gray was able to watch his compass by moonlight, within an hour. It was a clear night. The stars were out in force with a trace of the white wisp clouds that hang above a dry, elevated plateau.