24 The Light That Failed “The patch or the campaign?” said Dick. “Don’t think much of either, myself.” “You want the Ezryalus brought up above the Third Cataract, don’t you? and eighty-one-ton guns at Jakdul? Now, I’m quite satisfied with my breeches.” He turned round gravely to exhibit himself, after the manner of a clown. “It’s very pretty. Specially the lettering on the sack. G.B.T. Government Bullock Train. That’s a sack from India.” “It’s my initials, — Gilbert Belling Torpenhow. I stole the cloth on purpose. What the mischief are the camelcorps doing yonder?” Torpenhow shaded his eyes and looked across the scrub-strewn gravel. A bugle blew furiously, and the men on the bank hurried to their arms and accoutrements. “‘Pisan soldiery surprised while bathing,” remarked Dick, calmly. “D’you remember the picture? It’s by Michael Angelo; all beginners copy it. That scrub’s alive with enemy.” The camel-corps on the bank yelled to the infantry to come to them, and a hoarse shouting down the river showed that the remainder of the column had wind of the trouble and was hastening to take share in it. As swiftly as a reach of still water is crisped by the wind, the rock-strewn ridges and scrub-topped hills were troubled and alive with armed men. Mercifully, it occurred to these to stand far off for a time, to shout and gesticulate joyously. One man even delivered himself of a long story. The camel-corps did not fire. They were only too glad of a little breathing-space, until some sort of square could be formed. The men on the sand-bank ran to their side; and the whale-boats, as they toiled up within shouting distance, were thrust into the nearest bank and emptied of all save the sick and a few men to guard them. The Arab orator ceased his outcries,