“You don’t happen to know where we are, I suppose, Mrs. Norton?” he asked his companion.

“I haven’t the least idea.  It looks as if we’re lost,” she replied calmly.  “We had better wait quietly where we are instead of wandering about trying to find our way.  When we are missed the Maharajah will probably send somebody to look for us.”

“I daresay you’re right,” said Wargrave.  “You know more about the desert than I do.  By Jove, I’d give anything to come across the camel that Raymond tells me brings out drinks and ice.  My throat is parched.  Aren’t you very thirsty?”

“Terribly so.  Isn’t the heat awful?” she exclaimed, trying to fan herself with the few inches of cambric and lace that represented a handkerchief.

“Awful.  The blood seems to be boiling in my head,” gasped the subaltern.  “I’ve never felt heat like this anywhere else in India.  But, thank goodness, it seems to be clouding over.  That will make it cooler.”

Mrs. Norton looked around.  A dun veil was being swiftly drawn up over sun and sky and blotting out the landscape.

“Good gracious!  There’s worse trouble coming.  That’s a sandstorm,” she cried, for the first time exhibiting a sign of nervousness.

“Good heavens, how pleasant!  Are we going to be buried under a mound of sand, like the pictures we used to have in our schoolbooks of caravans overwhelmed in the Sahara?”

Mrs. Norton smiled.

“Not quite as bad as that,” she answered.  “But unpleasant enough, I assure you.  If only we had any shelter!”

Wargrave looked around desperately.  He had hitherto no experience of desert country; and the sudden darkness and the grim menace of the approaching black wall of the sandstorm seemed to threaten disaster.  He saw a thick clump of cactus half a mile away.

“We’d better make for that,” he said, pointing to it.  “It will serve to break the force of the wind if we get to leeward of it.  Let’s mount.”

He put her on her horse and then swung himself up into the saddle.  Together they raced for the scant shelter before the dark menace overspreading earth and sky.  The sun was now hidden; but that brought no relief, for the heat was even more stifling and oppressive than before.  The wind seemed like a blast of hot air from an opened furnace door.

Pulling up when they reached the dense thicket of cactus with its broad green leaves studded with cruel thorns, Wargrave jumped down and lifted Mrs. Norton from the saddle.  The horses followed them instinctively, as they pressed as closely as they could to the shelter of the inhospitable plant.  The animals turned their tails towards the approaching storm and instinctively huddled against their human companions in distress.  Wargrave took off his jacket and spread it around Mrs. Norton’s head, holding her to him.