Page:Doughty--Mirrikh or A woman from Mars.djvu/95

 dear old bit of blackened briar wood which I remember so well.

“Astronomical observations,” he replied lightly; “never in all my life have I seen such a wonderful display. Orion is glorious, Sirius shines with a brilliancy positively amazing,  and as for the Pleiades”

“Oh, hang the Pleiades!” broke in the Doctor. “I understand it now—you were looking at Mars.”

“And fell into one of your dreamy fits,” I added; “in spite of the risk you ran of supplying pneumonia for three.”

“You’ve hit it, George! You’ve hit it. Keep it up. I deserve it all.”

“Keep up nothing,” grumbled the Doctor. “I wish that rascal, Ah Schow, would get back with the argols to start up  this fire; we’ll be sure to see the last of it in twenty minutes  if he don’t.”

“One wouldn’t think so from the way the k’ang feels now,” laughed Maurice, jumping upon it, and sitting there  with his feet dangling down while he lit the pipe. “The temperature is quite Cambodian beneath and decidedly  Thibetan above. What we need is equalization. How’s that, Doctor? Ain’t it about so?”

“Upon my word,” grumbled the Doctor, “we need so many things that I’ve given up thinking about them, and take  everything as it comes. Most of all we need common sense enough to give up this whole crazy business and start back  to Calcutta before it is too late.”

“Hark! What was that?” I exclaimed suddenly.

Outside the hut a shrill cry had sounded.

It was the “sok! sok!” of the camel driver. A sound no one is likely to forget in a hurry who has had the ill-fortune  to travel in Thibet.

Maurice leaped off the k’ang and seized his rifle, which stood leaning against the unplastered wall of the inn. As for the Doctor, he displayed the effects of his American  training by the quick motion his hand made toward his hip  pocket.

“The fun begins, boys!” he exclaimed. “Some one is coming. I felt it in my bones that fate wouldn’t let us have a quiet night here by ourselves.”

We were all three at the door in an instant, almost upsetting Ah Schow, our Chinese cook at the Nagkon Wat, who was in the act of entering with an armful of argols; dried