body of the advance guard will join you!"

Jem Agar had been in occupation a week, and it seemed that he and his
little band of men were forgotten of the world. Still this soldier held
on, saying nothing to his men, writing his intensely practical diary, and
trusting as a soldier should to the _Deus ex machina_ who finally allows
discipline to triumph. He looked down into the valley, piercing the
shimmer of its hazes with his gentle blue eyes, looking to his chief, who
had said, "In three days I will join you."

It was not the first time that Agar and the little non-commissioned
native officer, Ben Abdi, had stood thus together. They had taken their
stand in this same spot in the keen air of the early morning, with the
white frost crystallising the stones around them; in the glow of midday;
and when the moon, hanging over the sharp-pointed hills, cast the valley
into an opaque shade dark and fathomless as the valley of death.

Scanning the distant hills, Agar presently raised his eyes, noting the
position of the sun in the heavens.

"Have you tried the heliograph a second time this morning?" he asked
without looking round, which informality of manner warmed the little
soldier's heart.

"Yes, sar. Three times since breakfast."

It was the first time that Ben Abdi had found himself in a position of
some responsibility, in immediate touch with one of the white-skinned
warriors from over seas whose methods of making war had for him all the
mystery and the infinite possibilities of a religion. This silent looking