Another interruption! This time from the "Red Caps," the military police, a little coterie of well-fed, rather pampered, and intensely self-consequential johnnies who were openly accused by the Australasians of suffering from "cold feet." Perhaps this was just a bit unfair, as they knew Cairo like a book, and knew all there was to know about their own special job. But our chaps could never understand why an active man of military age and training should remain permanently on a soft town job (as _they_ did) instead of going on active service with the other boys. Come to think of it, who could? And some of the military police I have run into have had feet like refrigerated mutton. They didn't join the army to be shot at. Not much! Which perhaps accounts for their zeal in hunting down the unfortunate Tommies who, coming home from the front wounded or on leave after a pleasant little spell of "killing or being kilt," may have neglected to salute an officer, to have buttoned up their greatcoats, or committed some other such grave military offence—running him down, I say, and seeing to it that the erring one received every single day of "C.B." that hard swearing could procure him. Such, in far too many cases, is _their_ conception of soldiering.... And the previous sentence reads for all the world like an Irish bull. All the foregoing by the way, however. The police behaved like looneys. They seemed to imagine they had a mob of English Tommies or niggers to deal with, but when they began trying to force their horses on top of the crowd they soon dropped down to the fact that they were up against something tougher. They were told pretty straight to go home and eat pie and not come meddling round where they weren't wanted. They didn't like being treated that way and showed it, so they had to be shoo'd off. At this they seemed to lose their top covering altogether, and, being armed with revolvers, opened fire on the crowd. It was now hell with the lid off. A number of the boys were hit, which sent the rest fair mad. You should have seen those Red Caps do a scoot! I don't think they got away unharmed; one I heard never got away at all. They had been looking for trouble, and I reckon they found all they wanted. You don't shoot down the chaps from the Colonies and get away with it: "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth," is the motto of the men from Down Under. Our little party now came to the conclusion that it was time to take the back trail. We could foresee what was likely to happen. Already strong mounted pickets were coming in from the New Zealand camp. We made tracks for Shepheard's Hotel, but found all exits from the scene of hostilities barred by cordons of dismounted men. We looked at each other. There were four of us, all six-footers and all at least thirteen-stoners. There was only one thing to do—and we did it. When the part of the line we charged had regained its formation we were too far away to make pursuit worth while.