Captain Desmond, V.C.

  CHAPTER XXII.

  THE CHEAPER MAN.

  "No proposition Euclid wrote, No formulae the text-books show, Will turn the bullet from your coat, Or ward the tulwar's downward blow: Strike hard, who cares--shoot straight, who can; The odds are on the cheaper man!" --RUDYARD KIPLING: _Arithmetic on the Frontier._

  The second week in March found the little force from Kohat stillskirmishing energetically through a network of ravines, nullahs, andjagged red hills; still dealing out rough justice to unrepentantAfridis in accordance with instructions from headquarters; or asnearly in accordance with them as Colonel Buchanan's pronounced viewson the ethics of warfare would permit. For Buchanan was a just man ofindependent character, a type not ostentatiously beloved by heads ofdepartments. He had a reprehensible trick of thinking for himself andacting accordingly--a habit liable to create havoc among thecard-houses of officialdom; and like all soldiers of the first grade,he was resolute against the cowardly method of striking at the guiltythrough the innocent; resolute in limiting the evils of war to itsauthors and active abettors.

  He had taken full advantage of his temporary rank to run theexpedition on his own lines; and although his instructions includedthe burning of crops, he had kept rigid control over this part of theprogramme; giving officers and men free scope for activity in thedemolishing of armed forts and towers, and in skirmishes with thewild tribes who harried their transport trains, rushed their pickets,sent playful bullets whizzing through the mess-tent at night, andgenerally enjoyed themselves after the rough and ready fashion of thehillsman across the Border.

  The Afridis in truth were merely tired of behaving like good children.The unstained knives at their belts cried shame on them for theirprolonged abstinence from the legitimate joys of manhood;--the musicof bullets whistling down a gorge, the yielding of an enemy's fleshunder the knife.

  Therefore, when Colonel Buchanan and his little force started punitiveoperations, they were met by a surprisingly concerted and spiritedresistance. The cunning tribesmen, having got what they wanted in theshape of excitement, were determined to make the most of it. Thus, theexpedition had flared up into one of those minor guerilla campaignswhich have cost England more, in the lives of picked officers, thanshe is ever likely to calculate; being, for the most part, careful andtroubled about weightier matters.

  The sweeping movement, organised to include all villages implicated inthe raid, took longer than had been anticipated. The demolishing ofAfridi watch-towers, manned by the finest natural marksmen in theworld, and built on bases proof against everything but gunpowder, isno child's play; and at almost every village on the line of route thetroops had found their work cut out for them. That they carried it outgallantly and effectively need hardly be said, since we are dealingwith the pick of India's soldiers, the Punjab Frontier Force.

  Their daily march led them along broken tracks or boulder-strewn bedsof torrents, winding through a land where "the face of God is arock";--a land feigning death, yet alive with hidden foes whoannounced their presence from time to time by the snick of abreech-bolt, the whing of a bullet, or a concerted rush upon therear-guard from some conveniently narrow ravine.

  Little interruptions of this sort helped to keep all ranks on thealert, and to make things cheerful generally; but they also took uptime. And although the middle of March found them back withintwenty-one miles of Kohat, there seemed little hope of quieting thecountry under another week or two at least.

  On the evening of the 16th, after two days of skirmishing and a brokennight under the stars, imperative need of water compelled them toencamp at the open end of a valley whose enclosing heights narrowedabruptly to the northward into an ugly-looking gorge.

  Tents sprang up right and left; lines for horses and mules establishedthemselves in less time than it would take the uninitiated to seewhere and how the thing could be done; and that eighth wonder of theworld, the native cook, achieved a four-course dinner with a mud oven,army rations, a small supply of looted fowls, and a large supply ofingenuity. A party of cavalry, having reconnoitred the ravinesbranching off into higher hills, reported no signs of the enemy. Acordon of sentries was told off for duty; and the posting of strongpickets on the near hill-tops, and in the neighbourhood of the campitself, completed the night's arrangements. Clanking of accoutrements,jangle of harness, and all the subdued hum of human life, died awayinto stillness; lights dropped out one by one; and the valley wasgiven over to silence and a multitude of stars.

  Touched into silver here and there by the ethereal radiance--forstarshine is a reality in India--the scene presented a Dantesquemingling of beauty and terror,--the twin elements of life, which are"only one, not two."

  At a little distance behind the clustering tents the ground slopedboldly upward to summits dark with patches of stunted forest; andbeyond these again the snow-peaks of the Safed Koh mountains stooddreaming to the stars. Lower down, at rare intervals, dwarf oaks andthe "low lean thorn" of the desert stood out, black and spectral,against the lesser darkness of rocks and stones. In the valley itselfthe stones had it all their own way;--a ghostly company, rounded andpolished by the stream, which crept among them now a mere ribbon ofsilver, but in four months' time would come thundering through thegorge in a garment of foam, with the shout of a wild thing loosed frombondage. The triumph of desolation was reached in the savage peaksthat almost fronted the camp and descended to the valley in a cataractof crags. Here even the persevering thorn-bush could take no hold upona surface of bare rock, split up into clefts, and chiselled to suchfantastic shapes that the whole might have inspired Dante's conceptionof the ravine by which he descended to the nether hell.

  Absorbed in the requirements of earth, and untroubled by ghostlyimaginings, officers and men slept soundly, with one eye open, assoldiers experienced in Frontier warfare learn to do; and when at lastthe earth, turning in its sleep, swung round towards the sun and thestill air quivered with foreknowledge of morning, a sudden outcroppingof life, where no life should be, amply justified the need forvigilance.

  From the darkness of a ravine some distance above the camp, a shadowymass of figures poured hurriedly, stealthily, into the valley--men ofsplendid physique, in loose dark draperies or sheepskin coats,carrying leathern shields and the formidable Afridi knife,bone-handled, with a two-foot blade that will halve a man's head as ifit were a lemon.

  By a preconcerted arrangement they divided into two parties, andkeeping within the deepest patches of shadow, bore down upon thenearest pickets with a fierce, soundless rush,--the most disconcertingform of attack to sleepy sentries in the small hours, when life andcourage are at their lowest ebb. But the picket sentries happened tobe Sikhs; and they are ill men to tackle at close quarters or tospring on unawares.

  Close upon the first determined rush came a scuffle, a smotheredshout, the sharp crack of rifles in quick succession; and before thehills had flung back the volley of sound, the whole camp hummed withlife from end to end, like a broken ant-heap.

  A fusilade of shots rang out on all sides. Men hurried about among thetents, concentrating at the two points of attack. Here and there, amidthe puffs of smoke that rose and vanished in the blue, a lifted swordor sabre gleamed like a flash of light.

  A number of Afridis forced their way into the camp, lunging at everytent-rope within reach of their long knives, and in the dim light itwas not easy to distinguish friend from foe. But the first sharp shockof encounter past, it became evident that the troops were getting thebest of the affair; and the Afridis, whose valour is not alwaystempered with discretion, saw fit to beat a rapid retreat up thevalley, hoping to reach the ravine before the cavalry started inpursuit.

  The men in camp, meanwhile, had leisure to breathe freely, after theirrough awakening; to look about and recognise one another, and exchangecheerful congratulations on the resolute stand made by the Sikhs.

  "That you, Desmond?"

  The Colonel's voice greeted Desmond as he emerged from his tent wherehis ser
vant had been pressing on him a half-cold cup of cocoa; and thetwo men faced each other, bareheaded, in shirt and breeches,unmistakable stains upon their naked blades.

  "The Ressaldar's falling in your squadron," Buchanan said briskly."Lose no time, and follow 'em up like hell. They'll break away intothe hills, of course. But the chances are they'll concentrate again inthe gorge and try to catch the main body as it passes through. So ifthey give you the slip now, ride straight on and secure the defile forus. I'll send out a detachment of infantry at the double to crown theheights; and I can safely leave all minor details to your discretion."

  "Thank you, sir." And Desmond departed to carry out his orders withhigh elation at his heart.

  There is no compliment a soldier appreciates more keenly than onewhich takes the practical form of leaving details to his owndiscretion; and, coming from Buchanan, it was doubly acceptable. For,in Desmond's opinion, there were few men in the world like theColonel, hard and uncommunicative as he was; and it never occurred tohim that his strong, unspoken admiration was returned with interest bythe reserve-ridden Scot.

  During the next fifteen minutes he fully justified his sobriquet of"_Bijli-wallah_ Sahib." Before the Afridis were out of sight a hundredand sixty sabres, headed by himself and Denvil, dashed along therugged pathway in gallant style, the men leaning well forward, andurging their horses to break-neck speed. But the enemy were well aheadfrom the start, and in any case, they had the advantage on their ownrough soil. The squadron overtook them--breathless and eager--just asthe final stragglers plunged into a lateral cleft, which would holdthe darkness for another half-hour at least.

  Further pursuit was out of the question; and, by way of consolation,the foremost sowars were ordered to dismount and open rapid fire inthe direction of the fugitives. Groans, curses, and the thud offalling bodies testified to its effect; and with laconic murmurs ofsatisfaction the men remounted, and rode on up the rapidly narrowinggorge.

  By now, along the silver snows to eastward, the great change hadbegun. The sky was blue above them; and the last of the stars hadmelted in the onrushing tide of light, which had already awakened thesandstone peaks to the warm hue of life.

  The party mounted the ascent at a foot's pace to ease their horses;and Desmond's eyes and mind, being as it were "off duty," turnedthoughtfully upon the Boy who rode at his side, a very incarnation ofgood health and good spirits. It seemed that the outcome of hiscritical inspection was approval, for it ended in a nod that confirmedsome pleasant inward assurance. During the past few weeks Denvil hadproved himself thoroughly "up to the mark";--hot-headed but reliable;square and upright in mind as in body; a fine soldier in the making.He had not yet arrived at the older man's keen mental interest in hisprofession; but closer intimacy with Desmond had kindled in him ananswering spark of that idealism, that unswerving subordination ofself to duty which justifies and ennobles the great game of war. Hecoveted action, risk, responsibility--three things which the StaffCorps subaltern, especially on the Frontier, tastes earlier than mostmen; and which go far to make him one of the straightest specimens ofmanhood in the world. In Denvil's eyes the whole expedition was onetremendous spree, which he was enjoying to the top of his bent; andDesmond, remembering the good years of his own apprenticeship, couldgauge the measure of that enjoyment to the full. He felt justified inexpecting great things of the Boy, and decided to work him hard allthrough the hot weather;--in his eyes the highest compliment a mancould pay to a promising junior.

  "By the way, Harry," he said suddenly, as the defile, deep-sunkenbetween towering rock, loomed darkly into view, "I've got a word ofencouragement for you before we part company. You did an uncommonlygallant bit of work in that skirmish yesterday. The Colonel spoke ofit; and congratulated me on having the smartest subaltern in theregiment. Of course I've known it myself this long while; and I don'tthink it will hurt you to know it too."

  Denvil flushed hotly through his tan.

  "I should be rather a poor sort of chap if I didn't manage to dopretty well--under you," he said, with awkward bluntness, lookingstraight between his charger's ears.

  Desmond laughed. "Very neatly turned off, old chap. Now, I'm bound tocall a halt till the Sikhs come up with us. Hope to goodness they'llbe quick about it. Confounded nuisance having to wait."

  Both men reined in their horses, and their consuming impatience. Thesquadron followed suit; and in an amazingly short time the Sikhs cameinto view, toiling lustily up the incline at their utmost speed.

  Desmond turned in his saddle and raked the hillsides with hisfield-glasses.

  "Looks empty enough, in all conscience," he remarked.

  The words were hardly spoken when a single shot startled the echoes ofthe rocks, and instant alertness passed like an electric currentthrough the squadron. The advance guard, which had already entered thedefile, consisted of three promising young Pathans from Denvil'stroop; and anxiety for the fate of his favourites pricked the Boy tokeener impatience.

  "I say, Desmond," he urged, "can't I take twenty men and push on tofind out what's up. They'll be taking pot-shots at my men, unless Iput a stop to it. For God's sake, let me go."

  Desmond could not repress an approving smile at an impetuosity thatmatched his own. He glanced down the valley at the advancing Sikhs,and saw that he would not be long delayed in following on. Moreover,he shared the Boy's anxiety for his three picked men; and a shotfired, being tantamount to a declaration of hostilities, justifiedimmediate advance to the scene of action.

  "Go ahead then," he said. "Advance warily; and good luck to you."

  The Boy needed no second bidding. Eagerly, yet with all dueprecautions, he went forward with his handful of Pathans; and was soonlost to sight and sound in the darkness of the giant cleft.

  Desmond, left alone, could hardly contain himself till the infantrycame up. Dividing into two flanking parties, they scrambled up thesteep slopes into the full radiance of dawn; while Desmond, with hissquadron ready drawn up, awaited the signal, "All's clear," beforeentering the defile.

  In due time it came; and they moved on between the frowning cliffs ata pace as rapid as the exigencies of the situation would permit.

  Here night fronted them, dank and chill. It was as if the clock hadbeen put back four hours. Only a jagged strip of sky, betweenprojecting crags, announced the advent of day. No living thing seemedto inhabit this region of perpetual twilight. At intervals a gnarledand twisted bush grew out of a cleft, lifting spectral foliage towardwhere the sun should be, and was not. Silence pervaded the dusk like aliving presence; unseen, but so poignantly felt that the whisper ofthe stream and the crunch of shingle under the horses' hoofs seemed anaffront to the ghostly spirit of the place; and the sowars, whenexchanging remarks among themselves, instinctively refrained fromraising their voices.

  Desmond, closely followed by his trumpeter, rode ahead of thetroopers, chafing at their leaden-footed progress. A hand-gallop wouldhave been too slow for the speed of his thoughts, tormented as he wasby anxious wondering what had become of the Boy; while his ears werestrained to catch the first sounds of contest from the heights, whichwere already widening out a little, and beginning to slope towardslower ground.

  Sounds came at length--harsh and startling;--the unmistakable note ofthe jezail; answering shots from his own men;--proofs incontestablethat a sharp engagement was in progress up above.

  "Ambuscaded,--by Heaven!" was Desmond's instant thought. Mercifullythe exit was already in sight; and flinging brisk instructions to theRessaldar to follow him closely with a hundred sowars, leaving theremainder to take charge of the horses, and hold the opening tillfurther orders, Desmond made for it full tilt, spurring Badshah Pasandas he had never been spurred in all his days. On dashing out into thesunlight he was greeted by a rattle of musketry from behind a tumbledmass of rock; and a dozen bullets buzzed about him like bees.

  One riddled his helmet, stirring his hair as it passed. A secondstruck his left shoulder, inflicting a flesh wound of which he was noteven consc
ious at the moment; for Badshah Pasand lunged ominouslyforward; swayed, staggered; and with a sound between a cough and agroan, fell headlong, flinging his rider clear on to the rough upwardslope.

  Luckily for him, Desmond pitched on to his sound shoulder; and thoughbruised and shaken, was none the worse for his fall. The foremost ofhis men dismounted and opened fire upon the treacherous rock, withouteliciting response; and quick as lightning he sprang to his feet, madwith rage and pain. A single glance showed him that his charger'swounds were mortal. Two well-directed bullets had entered the chest;and the great soft eyes were glazing fast.

  With a swift contraction of the heart, Desmond turned away, and issuedhurried orders for a hundred men to dismount and take the hill at fullspeed. Half a dozen of Denvil's Pathans--left in charge of thediscarded horses--gave information that the Sahib had taken his sowarsup some time before, commanding them to await his return.

  Distracted by anxiety, Desmond awaited the dismounting of histroopers, revolver in hand. The instant they were ready he boundedover the broken ground, his trumpeter dogging him like a shadow, and aself-imposed bodyguard of six sowars following close upon his heel.Behind these again the mountain-side was alive with clambering men;and the small party left below enviously watched their ascent.

  Only by the impetus of his spirit did Desmond manage to keep ahead ofhis men; for in general the native outstrips the Englishman in thisform of mountaineering. One thought hammering at his brain goaded himto superhuman exertion: "Those devils shall not murder Harry before Ireach him."

  Breathless and resolute, he hurried on, stumbling now and again fromsheer excess of haste, clenching his teeth to keep the curses back. Adull stain spread slowly across his left shoulder, where the blood wassoaking through his khaki coat.

  The slope ended in a twenty-foot wall of rocks, massed so as to formhuge irregular steps, that led to an abrupt bit of level, whereon thefighting appeared to be taking place. Sounds came to him now thatlashed him to a frenzy; the clash of knives and sabres, the thud ofmany feet; the fierce shouts without which it is impossible forprimitive man to slay or be slain.

  Desmond never quite knew how he climbed those formidable steps; and ashe vaulted up the last of them, the whole dread scene sprang abruptlyinto view.

  Denvil and his fifteen Pathans had been ambuscaded and outnumbered;and in the cramped space a sharp hand-to-hand encounter was inprogress. A small party of Sikhs had already come up with him; buteven so the odds were heavily on the wrong side. It was simply a caseof "dying game";--of adding one more to the list of "regrettableincidents" which figure too frequently in the record of Borderwarfare.

  A new risen sun smiled serenely down upon it all; and the awakenedearth was frankly indifferent to the issue.

  But amid the stirring confusion of a struggle at close quartersDesmond saw one thing only; and the sight struck at his heart like asword-thrust.

  Harry Denvil, hard pressed by four Afridis brandishing long knives andleathern shields, stood with his back against a rock, fighting fordear life.

  Five of his men and several of the enemy lay dead or wounded aroundhim. His left arm was disabled; his helmet gone; his hair gleamingred-gold in the sunlight; his young face, white and desperate,disfigured by an ugly cut across the forehead and cheek-bone, fromwhich the blood trickled unheeded in a sluggish stream.

  He had flung away his empty revolver; and was warding off blows rightand left, using his sword with a coolness and dexterity which wouldhave surprised him had he been aware of it. But he was aware ofnothing except a fierce desire not to die yet--not yet; and to get astraight cut at one of the dark faces that pressed in upon him withsuch pitiless persistence.

  At sight of Desmond a great cry broke from him.

  "Desmond!" he shouted; "Desmond--thank God!"

  For answer Desmond ran blindly forward, sheer lust of slaughter in hisheart; trumpeter, bodyguard, and the foremost troopers following asclosely as their captain's ardour would permit.

  But an unreasoning sense of safety put Harry momentarily off hisguard. He took a hasty step away from the rock, making it possible forthe first time to strike at him from behind: and, in the same instant,Desmond fired. Before his bullet could reach its destination, the longknife had descended, swift and certain. And even as the man whowielded it dropped like a log, Harry Denvil stumbled forward; and,with a thick sob, fell face downward at Desmond's feet.

  There was no time to stoop and ascertain whether the knife hadcompleted its work. Striding across his subaltern's body, Desmondturned upon his assailants, all the natural savage in him lashed to awhite heat of fury, and fired twice in quick succession, with deadlyeffect. But the knife of a third man bit into his flesh like fire,inflicting deep gashes on the left arm and hand, while another slippedbehind him, his uplifted blade glinting in the sunlight.

  By this time Rajinder Singh was behind him also; and like alightning-streak, his tulwar whizzed through the air, cleaving theman's head from his body at a blow.

  Desmond swung sharply round to find his reinforcements swarming overthe plateau's edge.

  "Well struck, Sirdar Sahib!----"

  But the sentence was never finished. A puff of smoke from behind adistant rock, the boom of a jezail, and Desmond fell beside the Boy,stunned by a well-aimed shot on the edge of the cheek-bone, the slugglancing off perilously close to the right eye.

  A shout of rage went up from his men. "The Captain Sahib,--the CaptainSahib!" But Rajinder Singh promptly assuming command, bade them turnupon the Afridi devils and smite their souls to hell; and, forming aprotective ring about their fallen officers, they obeyed with rightgoodwill.

  The arrival of supports, however, made it clear to the enemy that theythemselves were now heavily outnumbered; and after a desultoryresistance they broke up and fled, the sowars zealously speeding theirdeparture.

  The whole incident had passed in an incredibly short space of time;and now, with a low cry, Rajinder Singh sank on his knees besideDesmond, cold fear at his heart, his lean fingers trembling as theypushed up the watch-strap and pressed the smooth tanned wrist.

  "He lives!--_Parmeshwar_[27] be praised;--the Captain Sahib lives!"the old man murmured ecstatically, shaking his head at the same timeover the wound in the cheek-bone, which had an ugly look.

  [27] God.

  In Denvil's wrist no flutter of life was left. The Boy's soul hadpassed unstained to its account; and the Ressaldar's stern eyessoftened as they rested on the bright, blood-stained hair.

  Very gently, as though Denvil were merely asleep, he turned him overand closed the unseeing eyes. No shadow of pain marred the repose ofthe lips. They looked as if they had just left off smiling and meantvery soon to smile again.

  The Ressaldar sighed, and shook his head thoughtfully once again.

  "Doubtless it was written, ... it was the will of God," he decided,with the pious stoicism of the East; and thereupon issued immediateorders to his signallers to open up communication with the main bodyof troops in the valley, enumerating casualties, and adding an urgentrequest for an ambulance party to be pushed forward at the utmostspeed.

  * * * * *

  A short stab of pain jerked Desmond back to consciousness with a curseupon his lips. He found himself lying in a hospital doolie set in theshade on a slab of rock. Both flaps had been flung up, and JamesMackay stood beside him, investigating the wound in his face withconscientious thoroughness. It was not a pleasant proceeding. HenceDesmond's protest, which brought a twinkle of satisfaction to thedoctor's eyes.

  "Curse away, old man. It's a treat to hear you," he said heartily,"Just take a drop of this now, to keep you all there," and he held aglass of brandy and water to Desmond's lips. "They've given you anasty wound here. Wants looking to at once. I'm going to hurt you likehell, I know; but you must put up with it. Swear at me as much as youplease, if it eases you at all."

  He probed a peculiarly tender spot as he spoke. Desmond clenched histeeth and "put up with it" in silen
ce. Free permission to swear hadquenched the desire--a common trick of human perversity; and just ashe began to feel that one minute more of it would stretch endurance tobreaking-point--the thing was done. A sloping bandage encircled hishead, eclipsing his right eye; and he discovered that the Colonel wasstanding by the doolie, tugging at his grey moustache--sure sign ofmental disturbance--and listening attentively to the wiry littledoctor, who spoke in an urgent undertone.

  He turned when Mackay left off speaking.

  "Bad business this, Desmond," he said laconically. "Thank God it wasno worse, though."

  And Desmond had but two words for answer, sharp and anxious.

  "The Boy?"

  "We've lost Denvil," Buchanan growled between his teeth. "And we couldvery ill spare him."

  Desmond closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Speech was beyond him.His mind, dizzy with pain and loss of blood, refused to grasp thetruth. Two hours ago the Boy had been radiantly, vigorously alive. Itwas rank foolishness to expect a man to believe that he would neverhear him speak or laugh again.

  He was roused by Buchanan's hand on his arm.

  "Look here, Desmond," he said, "we must be moving again now. I merelycame to see how things were going with you before pushing on."

  "Thank you, Colonel. I'm in the rear for the present, I suppose?" Andhe tried to smile.

  "Not exactly. As we are within two days' march of the station andthere's little left to do but sweep up the rubbish, I have told off astrong escort to return to Kohat with the wounded men,--Denvil, andyourself. You've been badly knocked about, and you need careful seeingto at once."

  "Won't you leave me out of the programme, sir? You know I'm hard asnails; I'm sure I could manage to hang on to the saddle, and be fitfor light duty in a few days' time. Give me the chance, anyway. I'lldo my level best."

  "Never knew you do anything else," Buchanan answered gruffly.

  Then there was a short silence. Hard as he was, the man rebelledagainst the thing he had to say; and Desmond's unconquerable spiritput him in no better humour for his task.

  "My dear fellow," he began, "I'm no hand at beating about the bush; Ican only tell you straight that for the present you must give up allhope of getting back to duty, light or otherwise. Mackay is notsatisfied about that wound in your face. The slug went too close tothe eye, and may possibly--have injured the nerve."

  Desmond started and clenched his hand.

  "Good God, Colonel!" he broke out hoarsely. "D'you mean--blindness?"

  The ring of open fear in a brave man's voice is not a pleasant thingto hear. Buchanan felt he had been too blunt, and regretted not havingallowed Mackay to speak.

  "Don't jump to hasty conclusions, man," he said quickly. "We have torecognise the possibility in order to prevent it,--that's all. Mackayreturns with you. He'll get a second opinion, if necessary; and we'vesignalled the news to Wyndham in full. All you've got to do now is toknock under like a man, and give your eyes every possible chance; evenif it means lying in the dark for a week or two; you understand?"

  "Yes--I understand."

  There was bitterness in the studied resignation of his tone.

  Colonel Buchanan put out his hand and kept firm hold of Desmond's armwhile he spoke.

  "You'll be reasonable then, and--obey orders? You ought to find thecoast clear going back and have no trouble. Young Spence commands theparty, and Rajinder Singh takes thirty of your men. The old chapbegged for permission to accompany you. See you again in a fortnight,if not sooner. Keep up a good heart; and take every possibleprecaution, for your own sake and--for the sake of the Regiment."

  The final injunctions, jerked out brusquely, were in the nature of anachievement for this man of few words; and Desmond knew it. He wrungthe iron-hard hand that held his own with all the force still left inhim; and Colonel Buchanan returned to his waiting charger.

  That afternoon, under a brilliant sky, the little ambulance party setout for Kohat--thirty cavalry and twenty infantry, with six swayingdoolies in their midst. And among all the occupants of thosecomfortless conveyances, Harry Denvil was the only one for whom thatjourney was not a prolonged torment of pain and unrest.