"Well, and so am I. It is quite as good fun to scare two scamps, as to bully a helpless little devil." "Right you are," he exclaimed with a laugh, which made me think better of him, for he could not know that I had drawn my cartridges when I left off shooting; "but we are not scamps, young man; we were performing a painful duty." "You said it was a bit of fun just now. At any rate I have stopped it. And if you find that a grievance, I will put down my gun and meet you. But only one at a time, mind." "What an obliging man you are! And you stand nearly six inches over me. My friend would have a better chance with you. But he does not understand 'the box.' You have spoiled our day's work. Who are you?" "I have a right to ask that question first. I am in my own neighbourhood, as you can see. But you are a stranger, and doing strange things. Tell me your name, sir; and you shall have mine." "Fair enough. I am Captain Strogue of the British Pioneers,--not ashamed of my name, and not likely to be, though it is better known all round the world than at home. You think me a coward for tormenting a small chap. It only shows your ignorance of that race." "It is not brave to torture anybody, Captain Strogue. But that is no longer my business. My name is George Cranleigh, well known about here. What I have done I would do again, and so would any other Englishman." "Likely enough. But it is unlucky, and you may have done a world of mischief. However, I bear no grudge against you. Some day perhaps you will be sorry for it. But where the deuce is the--why, hang me upside down, if he has not vanished!" The Captain seemed eager to do the like, and it was not my place to stop him. He lifted his brown hat to me, and was gone, leaving upon me the impression of a man, resolute, testy, adventurous, excitable, and perhaps unscrupulous. As to the other man, although he had not presented himself distinctly, what other could he be than Hafer, the son of Imar's sister Marva, and now the Chief of the Osset tribe? Although I had not seen his face that night when he left Dariel weeping (neither had I seen it plainly now), the figure and carriage and style of dress were quite enough to convince me. Even in the dark there had been something about that fellow--or Prince, as some would call him--and about the moral smell of his nature, unpleasant, to use the mildest word that I can think of, to my plain and simple elements. He might be the better man of the two, more kindly, more trusty, more lovable, and of a higher stamp in every way. Never mind; I had not the least desire, though he were all that, to resemble him. And Providence, having made us as we are, cannot take it amiss if we are satisfied.