Here in this weird quarry to which no one ever penetrated, they had their base of operations. The native excavators, in charge of a headman who proved to be one of the group that had been seated outside the Luxor café, had their quarters several miles distant, in a sort of tumbledown village principally inhabited by dogs. Native life in the towns had offered novel features, but the conditions prevailing in this desert village surpassed anything Barry could have imagined. An entire absence of sanitary arrangements was the outstanding novelty; next to which he never got used to the spectacle of a considerable family, a number of dogs, chickens, and sometimes a donkey, residing happily together in one apartment which could have been covered by a full-sized dining table. They reached camp at dusk, although they had crossed the river in the morning, having travelled by a circuitous route over high ridges and through gloomy passes, to find that a native cook had prepared dinner and that Hassan es-Sugra, who had gone ahead, was waiting to receive them. Before attacking the meal, Barry, tired though he was, climbed the side of the _wâdi_ and stood on the edge of a small plateau, looking out to the rosy haze that marked the course of old, distant Nile. The unforgettable dusk of Egypt was falling. Rocks showed like black smudges on a gray canvas, and the sky was passing through an amazing transformation of delicate blue to shell pink, which, by some natural magic, combined to form the violet afterglow which is not the least of this country’s beauties. From below came a faint clattering of cooking utensils, and a dog was howling somewhere, probably in the village where the workmen were quartered. The great adventure had begun. To-night he was to see for the first time the tomb of Princess Zalithea! He uttered a deep sigh, which was a sigh of contentment, and climbed down the steep descent again to the camp. They dined inside one of the tents, Danbazzar deeming it unwise to court attention from any chance travellers upon the ridge above. Barry stooped and entered the little canvas dwelling which was to be his home for some time to come. It presented a spectacle, on that first night, which was always to remain with him as an odd memory. Plates of steaming tomato soup (Heinz tinned variety) were set upon the small square table, which even boasted a white cloth. The cook, a big, bearded fellow from the Fayyum, his magnificent teeth revealed in a constant grin, was just placing loaves and a pitcher of water upon the hospitable board.