Every morning at sunrise the bugle sounded, and the soldiers and followers of the new prophet were drilled for an hour. At ten o’clock they were again mustered and drilled in the manual of arms. Sherif el Habib was given the command of a division, and he appointed Ibrahim as his chief of staff, while Max occupied the same post of responsibility under Mohammed. Each knew that at any moment they might have to fight, and our young heroes were eager for the fray. Truth to tell, Max was a soldier born. He was never so happy as when engaged in combat, either in a wordy war with his tongue or in the more deadly conflict with the sword. When not engaged in some work of the kind his madcap proclivities were sure to manifest themselves, and he would make some one the victim of his practical jokes. His wish for a fight was soon to be gratified, and before he left the Mahdi he saw blood flow like water, and men go down to the valley of death by the thousand. CHAPTER XXIV. COUNTING CHICKENS. In all Africa there was not a more conceited man than the Governor of Fashoda. Defeated and driven back by the Mahdists, and ordered by Rauf Pasha to remain on the defensive, he nevertheless conceived the idea that he could win renown and perhaps become governor-general of the Soudan with the greatest ease. As his principal adviser he had a young Englishman, who had been compelled to leave his own country surreptitiously, or spend a few years in one of the English prisons. He managed to slip away to Egypt, and being of an adventurous disposition, Hubert Ponsonby was sent on a special mission to Rauf Pasha, who transferred him to the Governor of Fashoda. Hubert Ponsonby, whose father was a member of the English aristocracy, was educated at Oxford University, had been in the army, but resigned his commission just in time to escape being kicked out. But he was brilliant in every way, a good fellow, but a great rascal. Everybody liked him in spite of his faults. The Khedive of Egypt thought he was too brilliant. He feared that his winning ways might lure some of the court to the gaming table, for Ponsonby was a great gambler. Hence the khedive hit upon the happy plan of sending Ponsonby to the Soudan. Rauf Pasha saw that the young Englishman would soon run the country to suit himself, and he determined to get rid of him. He dared not kill him; he did try to get him into a low part of Khartoum, hoping he might be robbed and murdered, but Ponsonby escaped. The only thing he could think of was to send him with good recommendations to the Governor of Fashoda. “If ever the fellow gets away from there, I’ll resign in his favor,” said Rauf Pasha, when Ponsonby started from Khartoum. This was the Englishman who advised the Fashoda governor, and, in fact, really ruled the province. Two weeks after the defeat by the Mahdi, Ponsonby was closeted with the governor. “You see, Rauf is jealous of you,” said the Englishman, insinuatingly. “Why should he be?”