Gradually the voice died away into a hum, and was absorbed once more into the masterful silence of the desert.
"My dear old chap, I hope you're not hurt ?" said Belmont, laying his hand upon Cochrane's knee.
The Colonel had straightened himself, though he still gasped a little in his breathing.
"I am all right again, now.

Would you kindly show me which was the man who struck me ?" "It was the fellow in front there--with his camel beside Fardet's." "The young fellow with the moustache--I can't see him very well in this light, but I think I could pick him out again.

Thank you, Belmont!" "But I thought some of your ribs were gone." "No, it only knocked the wind out of me." "You must be made of iron.

It was a frightful blow.

How could you rally from it so quickly ?" The Colonel cleared his throat and hummed and stammered.
"The fact is, my dear Belmont--I'm sure you would not let it go further--above all not to the ladies; but I am rather older than I used to be, and rather than lose the military carriage which has always been dear to me, I--" "Stays, be Jove!" cried the astonished Irishman.
"Well, some slight artificial support," said the Colonel stiffly, and switched the conversation off to the chances of the morrow.
It still comes back in their dreams to those who are left, that long night's march in the desert.