The Camel Corps had all passed onwards down the khor in pursuit of the retreating Dervishes, and for a few minutes the escaped prisoners had been left alone.

But now there came a cheery voice calling upon them, and a red turban bobbed about among the rocks, with the large white face of the Nonconformist minister smiling from beneath it.

He had a thick lance with which to support his injured leg, and this murderous crutch combined with his peaceful appearance to give him a most incongruous aspect--as of a sheep which has suddenly developed claws.

Behind him were two negroes with a basket and a water-skin.
"Not a word! Not a word!" he cried, as he stumped up to them.

"I know exactly how you feel.