Going farther, Geoff's stick would have scratched the line in an almost due southerly direction till it struck that broad patch which Philip had contemptuously designated marshes. Unknown then to the leaders of the Indian Expeditionary Force, a channel runs from Kut-el-Amara down to the head of those marshes into the midst of which Geoff and his chum had so recently ventured, and ends at a spot on the River Euphrates where that broad, sluggish, and ever-changing stream plunges into the mass of sandy and reed-covered islets which form the marshes at Nasiriyeh, where at that very moment Turks were collecting. Not, let us add, that the Indian Expeditionary Force was entirely ignorant of their situation, for, indeed, the Intelligence Branch, thanks to the capture of that fat Turkish officer, had considerable news of a force of Turks collecting at Nasiriyeh. Yet they did not know of the Kut-el-Hai, connecting Nasiriyeh and Kut-el-Amara, and therefore were not aware that the Turks could reinforce the garrison already collected at the head of the marshes, and were at that moment hastily doing so. This force, joined by numbers of Arabs and tribesmen, was even then moving down beside the marshes, following their edge, and taking advantage of the drier parts where the desert was not submerged, their objective being Shaiba, hardly ten miles to the south-west of Basra. Information of their coming reached the Head-quarters of the division within a few hours, in fact, at the moment when Geoff and Philip were so eagerly discussing the situation, and the blare of bugles, and the stir in the camp, immediately gave occasion to Philip to demand once more of his friend: "What's up?" "Remember that old Turk?" asked Geoff. "Not 'arf!" grinned Philip. "And the tale he gave us of the Turks at the head of the marshes?" "Get along with it!" Philip told him. "Well, the enemy are said to be now at Shaiba, within striking distance of Basra, and we are sending back to reinforce our troops there." "Mahrattas?" asked Philip eagerly. "Can't say," came the short answer. "You'll know precious soon. So long, Philip! I'm busy." Geoff was, as a matter of fact, frantically busy; so busy, and so engaged in carrying messages, that he might, had he been inclined to arrogance, have suddenly formed the idea that he was the most important individual with the division. Dashing backwards and forwards on Sultan's back, he had hardly time to think of the Mahrattas, of Philip, or of anything else but his present duties; and it was not until some days later that the two met in the neighbourhood of Shaiba. "Somewhere about twenty thousand Turks opposite us," Geoff was able to tell his friend, "and plenty of guns. We're moving out to attack them. The beggars are entrenched at the foot of a slope along a line about two miles in length, and their supports occupy the high ground behind them. Of course there are German officers with them."