On the second day our troubles recommenced, for we had barely done a dozen miles than we stuck in another sand-hill, and the laborious digging-out process had to be done all over again. Fortunately, the party who had got the car out of the lake the night before were close behind, and for an obvious reason. They had been given so many rupees for their timely help that, knowing the difficulties lying ahead, they had followed in the hope of further largesse. They got it. Once safely out again I made a tour of inspection round the car, but only to find more trouble. "Hullo, what on earth is this, Allan? She's leaking!" Allan smiled a superior smile. "I don't think so, sir. My cars don't leak." But a moment later his superiority turned to consternation, and he was burying his head in the bowels of the car. After a moment's inspection he showed a face of such utter dismay that it would have been comical had not the situation been so serious. "Great Scott, sir! I must have left the petrol tap turned on, and the tank is nearly empty." Here, I'm afraid, my language was violent, and it was some minutes before Allan was able to ascertain exactly how much petrol we had left. His calculations established the fact that we had lost some fourteen gallons. This meant that we should have to walk the greater part of the last two hundred miles of our journey. A pleasant prospect in that forbidding country. But orders were to go on, and go on we did. That day we made good time, and before evening had done the ninety miles set as a day's march. But, as we had lost so much ground the previous day, I determined to go on as long as Allan could stick at the driving wheel, and we went on--to a post called Yadgar. I should explain that in this barren, townless, roadless district there are occasional small rest-houses, very modest types of Dâk bungalows, established by the Indian Government for the benefit of travellers, or soldiers on their way to frontier duty. They are quite bare except for a camp bed or two, a tub, a table, a few chairs and a wash-hand basin, with a _chokidar_, or keeper, in charge. Such a rest-house we found at Yadgar, and being not only very tired and dusty, but filthily dirty, as the result of our struggles with the car, we pulled up to try and get a superficial wash. I jumped out and tried the door. It was locked, and I banged loudly without getting any answer. It would not do to lose an unnecessary minute, for the many miles we should have to walk later on loomed unpleasantly ahead, but I knew there were pretty certain to be water and washing-basin behind that door, and did not intend to leave them unused if I could help it, _chokidar_ or no _chokidar_. So, I took a butting run with my shoulder, the door gave, and I set out in search of the water tub.