"Their loads are mostly your stuff," said Lawrence. "We’ve only brought a couple of bags apiece." "Very sensible of you. I was afraid you might bring out a lot of rubbish, and wished I’d sent you a caution. But I needn’t have worried, evidently." "Well, there are one or two things coming after us," said Bob, with a shade of misgiving. "We sent them ahead by slow steamer, and as they hadn’t arrived when we reached Bombay, we thought we’d better come on." "Humph!" their uncle grunted. "It’ll be a month before my next consignment comes up, so it’s to be hoped you’re not in a hurry for your stuff. I suppose there’s not much of it. What is it?" "There’s my cricket-bag, and a couple of tennis rackets, and a set of golfing sticks," said Lawrence. "You didn’t happen to bring turf too, I suppose?" said their uncle with twinkling eyes. "The ground hereabout is all bunkers. Anything else useful?" "There’s my aeroplane," said Bob. "Your what?" "A monoplane. I was going into the flying corps, you know, if-- "Yes, yes," interrupted Mr. Appleton. "It must have been very disappointing, my boy, but you must cheer up. But an aeroplane!" "It’s very light and portable--perhaps a couple of mule loads at the most." "I wasn’t thinking of the mules," replied his uncle dryly. "An aeroplane in these hills will be just about as useful as a Dreadnought in a millpond. You didn’t realise that the Hindu Kush is not exactly like the South Downs. Well, it can’t be helped now. Anything else?" "Nothing of any importance," said Bob, feeling a little dashed. He had looked forward to many hours of flying in his spare time, and it was rather dispiriting to find that the expense of shipping his aeroplane was to be wasted. "Well, we’ll get on," said Mr. Appleton. "With good luck we shall reach the mine before dark. You won’t be sorry, I expect, to spend the night under a roof again." They rode on, the track running generally to the north-north-west. About an hour after they started, their uncle pointed to a narrow cleft in the hills on their left hand. "You see that path?" he said. "It runs into Afghan country. About six months after I started operations the mine was raided by a horde of ruffians who came that way." "I say!" cried Bob. "What happened?"