False Evidence by E. Phillips Oppenheim — Read

Whether it was the stifling desert air, or the anticipation of the morrow's battle, I cannot tell; but sleep for me was a thing impossible. We were encamped on the outskirts of a mighty plain, and within an hour's march the Mahdi lay entrenched awaiting our attack. Outside my tent all was bustle and stir in preparation for the morrow's fight, and a yellow moon was shining with a grim ghostly light upon our white tents, and the figures moving silently about.

There were many other reasons why I should be restless. We were within a day's march -- they could not be further away, and they might be nearer -- of my father and Burton Leigh. Every day came tidings of the two white men on whose heads the Mahdi had set an enormous price, and who lived in deadly peril for fear of the treachery of their wavering friends, and to-morrow their fate would be decided, for if the tribe of the Asarees seceded to the false prophet and joined in the fight, then they were most surely doomed. But if, on the other hand, they held aloof from the fight, then would my father and Burton Leigh have succeeded in their daring mission, and would reach us in safety to be received as heroes.