"Lie in your beds; we go to kill the beasts that harass the poor people who have treated us so kindly." "So be it," said Shadrach with a smile that struck me as malicious.

"A lion made this"-- pointing to the dreadful threefold scar upon his face.
"May the God of Israel protect you from lions.

Remember, lords, that, the camels being fresh again, we march the day after to-morrow, should the weather hold, for if the wind blows on yonder sand-hills, no man may live among them;" and, putting up his hand, he studied the sky carefully from beneath its shadow, then, with a grunt, turned and vanished behind a hut.
All this while Sergeant Quick was engaged at a little distance in washing up the tin breakfast things, to all appearance quite unconscious of what was going on.

Orme called him, whereupon he advanced and stood to attention.

I remember thinking how curious he looked in those surroundings--his tall, bony frame clothed in semi-military garments, his wooden face perfectly shaved, his iron-grey hair neatly parted and plastered down upon his head with pomade or some equivalent after the old private soldier fashion, and his sharp ferret-like grey eyes taking in everything.
"Are you coming with us, Sergeant ?" asked Orme.
"Not unless ordered so to do, Captain.