Quest felt her pulse and her forehead. They moved back to the fire.

"We are within a dozen miles or so of the Mongar village," Quest said
grimly. "Do you suppose that fellow could have been watching?"

They all talked together for a time in low voices. The Professor was
inclined to scout the theory of Craig having approached them.

"You must remember," he pointed out, "that the Mongars hate these fellows.
It was part of my arrangement with Hassan that they should leave us when
we got in sight of the Mongar Encampment. It may have been meant for
Hassan. The Mongars hate the dragomen who bring tourists in this direction
at all."

They talked a little while longer and finally stole away to their tents to
sleep. Outside, the camel drivers talked still, chattering away, walking
now and then around Hassan's body in solemn procession. Finally, one of
them who seemed to have taken the lead, broke into an impassioned stream
of words. The others listened. When he had finished, there was a low
murmur of fierce approval. Silent-footed, as though shod in velvet, they
ran to the tethered camels, stacked the provisions once more upon their
backs, lashed the guns across their own shoulders. Soon they stole away--a
long, ghostly procession--into the night.

"Those fellows seem to have left off their infernal chattering all of a
sudden," Quest remarked lazily from inside the tent.

The Professor made no answer. He was asleep.