"You are aware,
of course, that though a horse beats a camel on twenty miles, a camel
beats a horse on thirty."
"What, one of those camels?" cried Anerley in astonishment. The two
seniors burst out laughing.
"No, no, the real high-bred trotter--the kind of beast the dervishes
ride when they make their lightning raids."
"Faster than a galloping horse?" "Well, it tires a horse down. It goes
the same gait all the way, and it wants neither halt nor drink, and it
takes rough ground much better than a horse. They used to have long
distance races at Haifa, and the camel always won at thirty."
"Still, we need not reproach ourselves, Scott, for we are not very
likely to have to carry a thirty-mile message, they will have the field
telegraph next week."
"Quite so. But at the present moment--"
"I know, my dear chap; but there is no motion of urgency before the
house. Load baggles at five o'clock; so you have Just three hours
clear. Any sign of the evening pennies?"
Mortimer swept the northern horizon with his binoculars. "Not in sight
yet."
"They are quite capable of travelling during the heat of the day.
Just the sort of thing evening pennies _would_ do. Take care of your
match, Anerley. These palm groves go up like a powder magazine if you
set them alight.
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