‘Let Will and I creep forward and see who and what they are,’ said Jack; ‘we’re lighter and smaller than you or Pearson, and can move more easily.’ The sergeant demurred at first, but Jack pressed his point. He and Will divested themselves of swords, spurs, caps, trumpets, and bugles; then, having nothing on them that would glitter or jingle, and armed only with their pistols, they started off. Quite noiselessly they moved forward until, as they got closer to the camp-fires, they could distinctly make out figures in uniforms, clearly Russians by their caps, moving about between the fires. They advanced still closer, and then they could see long lines of wagons--scores, nay, hundreds it seemed--drawn up beside the road. The native drivers were seated together in groups, eating their supper. It was clearly a convoy, and a large one too. The trumpeters rejoined their companions and reported. ‘If we could only capture the lot,’ said Jack, ‘it would be glorious.’ ‘We can do nothing against hundreds,’ muttered Linham. ‘But if we could find the rest of our troop and bring them along?’ suggested Jack. ‘Just what I was thinking,’ said Linham. ‘On with your things, boys; we’ll have a try.’ In a couple of minutes they were on their way again, and Sergeant Linham guided them so truly that they went straight on until suddenly, from the shadow of some trees in front, two mounted figures appeared. Instantly the cold moonbeams fell on the barrel of a carbine, and a stern voice cried, ‘Who goes there? Halt, or I fire.’ ‘Friends!’ cried Sergeant Linham joyfully. ‘Stand, friends, and give the countersign,’ came the sharp response, as the carbines of the two Hussar vedettes were pointed straight at them. ‘We don’t know the word. We’re four of the 17th Lancers left behind in the village we halted at this afternoon.’ ‘Stay where you are,’ came the reply; ‘the sergeant of the picket will examine you.’ ‘Bedad, we don’t want no sargint,’ cried a rich voice; and Larry O’Callaghan came running forward. ‘It’s old Hooky-beak and my two chums of the 17th. I can see ’em.--The saints be praised, ye’ve cheated thim divils of Russians, bhoys,’ he cried, ‘for I’ve been breaking me heart to think as ye was done for. Hurroo! come on!’ and in a few minutes the four Lancers found themselves standing before a fire in one of the cottages of the deserted village in which the detachment had halted for the night. CHAPTER XXII. A BRILLIANT LITTLE AFFAIR. Presently Linham went off to find Sergeant Barrymore, and Larry related what had happened in the village. ‘We were sitting on our horses, kaping our eyes and ears open,’ he said, ‘when I happened to notice a pasty-faced young gossoon on a pony sneaking off towards the hills.’ ‘Had he a black sheep’s-wool cap on, and an orange-coloured sash round his waist?’ asked Jack.