The march which now began was by no means devoid of incident, but during the first few days, while the caravan was still in touch with the city, everything went well. It was when the dried-up pasture-lands and the scattered villages had all been left behind, and only the sands of the desert were to be seen on every side, that the troubles of the Mission began again. Their commencement was marked by a small but alarming mutiny among the escort of irregular cavalry, who accused their captain of appropriating to his own use half of the _bakhshish_ promised them as a reward for their services, which had been handed over to him at the beginning of the journey for distribution among his troopers. It had been arranged that each man should receive the remainder of his share when Fort Rahmat-Ullah was reached, but they demanded that it should be paid down immediately, if they were to escort the Mission any further. To yield to this attempt at extortion was manifestly impossible, since there was nothing to prevent the men’s demanding extra gifts until the travellers were bereft even of the necessaries of life; but nothing less than a complete surrender to their wishes would satisfy the mutineers. The English met informally in Stratford’s tent to consider the situation (it was early in the morning, and the preparations for the day’s march were interrupted by this untoward event), and admitted to their councils the Ethiopian captain, who had brought the news that the men refused to move until their demands were conceded. “If we don’t stop this at once,” said Dick, “things will get serious. Stratford, I should be glad if you would leave the matter to me to deal with.” “By all means,” said Stratford; “but what do you intend to do?” “Make an example of the chaps that are stirring them up,” said Dick, grimly, taking out his revolver and making sure that all the chambers were loaded. “But we shall have to get hold of them first,” objected Stratford. “Exactly. That’s what I’m going to do.” “Stuff! You are not going down among them alone, I can tell you.” “We can’t waste more than one man over this business. Look there,” and he threw a significant glance at the trembling Ethiopian captain, “you can see what he thinks of it. I’ll take Ismail Bakhsh with me. Lend him your revolver.” “Oh, Dick, what are you going to do?” asked Georgia in astonishment, as she met Dick outside the tent, revolver in hand, with Ismail Bakhsh stalking after him with inimitable dignity and determination, his right hand thrust into his girdle.