Winter caught us at Jaffa, and the rain came down unceasingly day and night. Here I had a lot of trouble with our labour corps—the mules. They were a hungry lot of cannibals, and, not being satisfied with a ration of grain, they used to break away from their lines at night and eat our rugs. Some of them even gnawed the hair and tail off a sick pal of mine—he did look a wreck in the morning! Another inconvenience was that I shivered so much that I always shook the rug off, no matter how careful Bill was about putting it on. The early part of 1918 was a time of wind, cold, rain, rocks and mud, and stunts amongst tremendous hills. We had a most exciting time then, and I often wonder how it was I kept out of hospital. Later on, when we stopped in the Valley, I tried to “swing it” a bit, and succeeded in bluffing the sergeant; but the vet knew too much for me, and so I remained. Fortunately, we moved back to Bethlehem, where the bracing hill air, and the sight of the olive trees, made a new horse of me. Our last big stunt was rather pleasant, as well as most profitable. (Bill agreed with me in that.) We again went to Amman, and this time captured all the Jackos in that part of the world; it was quite a different affair from that first Amman stunt, when I slipped on the muddy track and almost went overboard into a wady some hundreds of feet below. After we had collected all the gear which Jacko had left behind, we turned our heads west, came through Jericho, and passed up into the hills. We stopped for a day at Jerusalem, and then travelled down to the coastal plains near Jaffa. We returned to Richon to recuperate, and to await further developments. Now our masters are talking of going home, and I hear them whisper in the lines—“Yes, they’ll remain behind”—“Ah! They’ve done their work bravely and well”—“I wonder what will happen to them?” Bill is going home; to-day he came to me and told me so. “Good-bye, Baldy, old comrade. You’ve been a good pal to me,” he said; and then he was gone. Here at Richon I would like to stay with Bill, and end my days. Richon, with its trees, its vines, its orchards, recalls my early life in some strange way; its fertile fields and pleasant surroundings make the desert days seem but a bad dream of long ago; and in its shady lanes, the toilsome hills and the rain, and the dust of the Valley, are forgotten. But Bill is gone! I must stay behind! Let them shoot me—and quickly—for I would go to that land of eternal sunlight, there to wait until Bill calls to me.... Then together we shall gallop for ever over the plains. E. L. D. HUSBAND. [Illustration] THE HORSES STAY BEHIND In days to come we’ll wander west and cross the range again; We’ll hear the bush birds singing in the green trees after rain; We’ll canter through the Mitchell grass and breast the bracing wind: But we’ll have other horses. Our chargers stay behind.