H. Bedford-Jones and W. C. Robertson

“ He lifted his rifle, forced his hands into steadiness and fired twice; the last brace of his treacherous guides fell to the bullets. Then Severn took out his pipe, took out the pinch of tobacco wrapped in a squill of silk that he had preserved for two weeks, and filled his pipe.
He watched, sucking the unlighted pipe, for he had no light. Three of the Mongols reached the ponies; the others were dead. These three made a frantic effort to escape out of the bowl, but for them there was no escape. Bullets brought down their horses. Bullets killed them as they came to their feet again. ”

“ The Canadian—for such Kilgore really was—snapped out an order and his five Sikhs went on to join their advancing fellows. Then he produced a cigaret and lighted it. His words came fast, but not too fast, getting swift impact on Severn's brain.
“Our scouts heard the firing this morning, and we came ahead. Surrounded the place, of course; if any of these chaps had gotten away, would have been bad for us. Confounded lucky thing we've met you, Severn. You're the one man I know who might solve the enigma we're up against—the Temple of the Ten Dromedaries. ”

“ Day stared hard at him for a moment, then clapped him lustily on the shoulder.
“You win, professor! I take off my hat to you. Come along, now—Fandi has raided our haversacks for a shirt and pants, and we'll spare you enough water for a shave——”
In effect, camp had been made while they examined the two bodies. It was a simple camp; no fires, since “they hadn't de quoi,” little water, no shelter. ”