A FUGITIVE 273 passionately fond of their favourite horses—more so than they are of their families. While I had been waiting at the edge of the wood more than one had come out to pat and fondle his horse and give it a handful of dates. But a poor animal would meet with no such attention, and the fact that he was missing was not likely to be discovered till daylight. Probably no great search would be made for it; the others would ride on, and its owner might spend some hours in looking about, thinking it had strayed away and was lying somewhere among the bushes.

I had no thought of trying to return to Khartoum. The wells were far apart, and Dervish bands were certain to be moving along the line. It seemed to me that El Obeid was the safest place to go to. True, it was in the hands of the JVTahdists, but doubtless many wounded would be making their way there. Some doubtless would have wives and children, others might have come from distant villages, but these would all make for the town as the only place where they could find food, water, and shelter. Biding till morning I let the horse graze, and threw myself down among the bushes, intending to remain there until nightfall. In the afternoon, on waking from a long sleep, I sat up and saw a quarter of a mile away a Dervish making his way along on foot, slowly and painfully. This was the very chance I had hoped might occur. I got up at once and walked towards him. ‘ My friend is sorely wounded,’ I said.

My journey is well-nigh ended,’ he said. ‘I had hoped to reach El Obeid, but I know that I shall not arrive at the well, which lies three miles away. I have already fallen three times; the next will be the last. Would that the bullet of the infidel had slain me on the spot I ’ “ The poor fellow spoke with difficulty, so parched were his lips and swollen his tongue. I went to the bush where I had left the gourd half-full of water. The man was still standing where I had left him, but when he saw the gourd in my hand he gave a little cry and tottered feebly towards me.