In this way the three adventurers began a strange journey, the novelty of which did not prevent it from palling upon them very quickly. Sometimes the desert was hilly and rugged, sometimes it was flat and sandy, but it was always arid, sunny, and treeless. The society of the sheikh and his followers was as monotonous as their native scenery. They made it evident that they preferred to keep entirely to themselves, riding together in advance, and never, if they could help it, exchanging a word with their unwelcome guests. When a halt for food or rest became necessary, they showed the same anxiety not to associate with them, seating themselves on the opposite side of the fire, if there was one, and when there was none, taking shelter behind their horses. At first Cyril made many determined efforts to induce them to talk, with the help of Mr Hicks as interpreter, but in vain. None of them would give him any information as to the extent of the territory claimed by the tribe, their ruler or her capital, the probable length of the journey, or the direction in which they were going. His failure did not seem to dishearten him, however, although he ceased his attempts to draw them into conversation, and he sustained the hardships of the march in a way that was little short of astonishing. The distance from one well to another, which must be covered in a single stage, was often so great that the travellers fell asleep from sheer fatigue as they rode, and on reaching the halting-place could do nothing but tether their horses and throw themselves on the ground for a few minutes of precious slumber, even before thinking of the much-needed evening meal. The food, which consisted almost exclusively of dry flaps of native bread and a sticky preparation of pounded dates, was just sufficient to support life; the water, on the other hand, seemed generally calculated to destroy it. The small supply of tea which they had contrived to bring with them was soon exhausted, and Cyril and Mr Hicks qualified the nauseous draught with brandy; but Mansfield, who was a teetotaller, as became Lady Philippa’s lover, drank it heroically unmixed. Shelter at night there was none. The force of habit made the three foreigners creep as far as possible under the bushes, when there were any, to the derision of their guides, and they were also sufficiently fastidious to remove all the most obtrusive pebbles from the spot selected for a bed; but the large light cloaks that protected them from the dust by day served also as a covering at night, and each man’s pillow was such as his own ingenuity could devise from his small stock of possessions. “It isn’t the grub I mind,” lamented Mansfield one day to Mr Hicks, when the journey had lasted nearly a week, “nor even having to do without a bed, but I do detest getting so horribly grimy. I don’t believe I shall ever be clean again.”