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 der of Abdullah would have been discovered quickly had it occurred before his return to the camp; he remembered distinctly having seen the men moving about Abdullah's tent while he was bidding good-night to Mouchon.

No; it had taken place since he had lain down to sleep. He recalled with a start that cry which he had heard while half asleep, and, hearing, had attributed to his imagination.

So—where was Soly?

Not in the oasis, for that had been beaten thoroughly; not a hiding-place therein had been overlooked—not a hole large enough to conceal a rabbit. The search had gone on by his orders while he was making the rounds of the pickets;, he was satisfied as to its thoroughness.

It was about five o'clock, at the hour of the windy dusk that foretells dawn upon the desert. O'Rourke lingered near the dead body of one of the unfortunate sentries, looking out to the eastern horizon where a pale and opalescent light was growing steadily.

Was Soly out there? And if so, where? What did he purpose, how might he hope to exist, without food or water or camels?

His eye was caught by the flutter of a white thing, far out on the sands. He walked slowly out to see, without actually attaching much importance to the matter. It was idle curiosity that led him—that alone. And yet when he at last came to it and stopped, it was with an exclamation of direst dismay.

He stooped suddenly, trembling with an uncontrollable agitation, and put forth his fingers. They closed about the white object; he brought it close to his eyes, as if doubting much its reality; for surely he must be dreaming!

It was a handkerchief—a mere bit of sheer linen, for