There were three legionnaires walking through the desert under a baking sun. They were fully equipped with enough water for days, and had plenty of food. On the shimmering horizon mirages came and went and came again, visions of swimming pools attended by dusky maidens, stalls full of ice-cream, sorbets, freshly-whipped smoothies of every conceivable flavour. But all to no avail, as the legionnaires did not crack, but kept marching solidly on. Suddenly one of them froze, "Psssst" said he. His companions halted, and strained their eyes to where the first legionnaire was pointing. "Le voila", said he, "Regardez, mes amis, isn't zat a bacon tree on ze 'orizon"? And sure enough, there it stood, proud and defiant in the middle of the desert, a true bacon tree. Slowly they crept forward towards the mystery object far off, inch by inch, centimetre by centimetre, until they were within a stone's throw of the bacon tree. Even nearer they crept, and suddenly, a shot rang out, dropping one of the legionnaires in his tracks. The other legionnaires hit the ground as bullets thudded into the sand around them. The other two returned fire, and gave first aid to their wounded companion. Even as they bandaged him, and poured water over his face, they could hear his faint voice: "Zat was no bacon tree," he gasped, "Zat was an 'am bush."