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Buchan, John, 1875-1940

"The Half-Hearted"

His
watch had been stolen, but he guessed by the heavens that it was some
two hours after noon. Five hours would bring him to Nazri at six, in
another he might be at the hut before the wires were severed. It was a
crazy chance, but it was his all, and meanwhile these grinning tribesmen
were watching him like some curious animal. They had talked to him
freely to mock his feebleness. His dominant wish was to escape from
their sight.
He turned to the descent. "I am going to Nazri," he said.
The chief held out his pistol. "Take your little weapon. We have no
need of such things when great matters are on hand. Allah speed you,
brother! A sure foot and a keen eye may bring you there in time for the
sport." And, still laughing, he turned to enter the hut.

CHAPTER XXX
EVENING IN THE HILLS
The airless heat of afternoon lay on the rocks and dry pastures. The
far snow-peaks, seen for a moment through a rift in the hills, shimmered
in the glassy stillness. No cheerful sound of running water filled the
hollows, for all was parched and bare with the violence of intemperate
suns and storms. Soon he was out of sight and hearing of the village,
travelling in a network of empty watercourses, till at length he came to
the long side of mountain which he knew of old as the first landmark of
the way. A thin ray of hope began to break up his despair.


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