padded on at a steady seven miles an hour unurged--save by the _smell_
of pure clear water which was still a score of miles distant....

When Damocles de Warrenne awoke, he was within a few hundred yards of
the nearly dry River Helnuddi, where, failing occasional pools, the
traveller can always procure water by digging and patiently awaiting
the slow formation of a little puddle at the bottom of the hole.

For a minute he halted. Should he dig while he had strength, or should
he turn to the left and follow the river-bed until he came to a
pool--or could go no farther? Perhaps he would be too weak to dig,
though, by that time.... Remarkable how eager to turn to the left and
get on, the camel was--considering how tired he must be--perhaps he
could smell distant water or knew of a permanent pool hereabouts.
Well, let that decide it....

An hour later, as the camel topped a rise in the river-bank, a
considerable pool came into view, tree-shaded, heron-haunted, too
incredibly beautiful and alluring for belief. Was it a mirage?...

A few minutes later, Damocles de Warrenne and his camel were drinking,
and a few hours later entered the dreary featureless compound of a
wretched hovel, which, to the man at least, was a palatial and
magnificent asylum (no, not _asylum_--of all words)--refuge and
home--the more so that a camel knelt chewing in the shade of the
building, and a man, Abdul Ghani himself, lay slumbering in the
verandah....

"You understand, then," said Dam in the vernacular, to the malodorous,
hideous, avaricious Abdul who reappeared from Kot Ghazi a few days