He slipped from the saddle with a litheness which contrasted strangely with his closely cropped grey hair and white moustache and Imperial. He walked towards Agar's tent after the manner of one who had sat in the saddle for many hours. His spurs clanked with a sharp, business-like ring, and his every movement had that neat finish which indicates the soldier born and bred. Wheeling round he faced Agar, who had followed him with a more leisurely gait based on longer legs, looking up keenly into the quiet fair face. Turning he shot his sword home into its scabbard with a click. “Thank God,” he said, “you're safe!” Agar awaited for further observations. This was not the man whom he had expected, but another, far greater, far higher up in the military scale--a man whom he had only met once before, and that at an official reception. Seeing that his guest was unbuckling his sword, he presumed that the task of continuing this conversation lay with himself. “M' yes!” he replied, rubbing his pannikin out clean with the corner of a towel, and proceeding to mix some brandy and water; “why?” “Why!” answered the little man scornfully, “WHY! damn it, sir, Stevenor's command has been cut off by the enemy in force--massacred to a man. That is why I say 'Thank God, you're safe!' It is more than I expected.” CHAPTER IX RE-CAST Our deeds still travel with us from afar, And what, we have been makes us what we are. There was a momentary pause; then Major Agar spoke. “In that case,” he observed, “the British force occupying this country for the last week has consisted of myself and thirty Goorkhas.” “Precisely so! And it was by the merest chance that I found out that you were here. It was only guesswork at the best. A bazaar report reached me that poor old Stevenor had been cut to pieces. I hate blaming a dead man, but I really don't know what he can have been about. He made some hideous mistake somewhere. We buried him yesterday. On hearing the report, I thought it better to come up myself, having a little knowledge of the country. Brought two companies, and half a squadron to act as scouts. We reached Barkoola yesterday, and found the poor chaps as they had fallen. And some of those carpet-warriors at home say that a black man can't fight! Can't he! Not so much brandy this time, please. Yes, fill it up.” Agar set the regulation water-bottle down on his gifted table. “I have the Devil's own luck!” he murmured. “While they were burying I missed you from among the officers; and then it struck me that you might have got away before the disaster. We counted the men, and found thirty-four short, so we came on here. By God! what a chap Mistley was! We came here without a check. His maps are perfect!” “Yes,” admitted Agar, “that man knew his business!”