Talking was barred and smoking absolutely prohibited. The red glow of one cigarette on a night job is enough to give a whole Division away. This had to be deeply impressed on the brains of these gallants. They did their best to comply—a severe test to the garrulous gentry who also believed in "thick black." Subdued excitement was always characteristic of these affairs. The chirping of a bird, the rustle of leaves and creaking of trees, were signs of "the enemy." Preliminary night attacks were done on the Mudtown Common—a great expanse which had been gifted by a king to the sweethearts of all ages. The loneliness and darkness of this area may be imagined. This place, by the way, was the rendezvous of the Territorials at dusk. In all of its dark corners these gay Lotharios told the old, old tale. The Militia knew this, and, still bitter with the poison of their great defeat, determined to have revenge. It was to be accomplished on a night attack. "We’ll get oor ain back the nicht," said Spud Tamson on hearing the orders given for night operations. "How?" asked Micky Cameron. "The Terriers are no’ trainin’ the nicht. They’ll be a’ owre the place. We’ll capture them an’ their weemin and bring them in tae the colonel." This great plot was quietly sent round. When the regiment paraded, all were thrilled with the prospect of fun ahead. Of course the officers knew nothing about it. That would have spoiled the game. "Gentlemen," said the colonel to his group of officers, "we shall imagine an enemy at the other end of the Common. Our plan is to make a simple reconnaissance from this, our outpost line. Two companies will go out, the remainder will stay here. The enemy which is represented by the Mudshire Militia will also have strong patrols in front. Elude or capture them, but do something useful." "Very good, sir," replied the officers concerned, moving off. These officers split up their companies into strong patrols and sent them out as arranged. The darkness swallowed them up almost instantly. For half an hour there was a tense silence, broken only by an occasional patter of feet, as a scout returned with the necessary false news from the various patrols to keep the officers at ease while the comedy went on in the darkness. Then the trouble began. Shouts and screams rent the wintry air and carried far, while here and there a thud or scuffling noise made the expectant colonel and his staff prick up their ears. "What the devil is wrong?" said Corkleg anxiously. "There’s women there, that is evident from the screaming," ventured Coronet. "It seems to me your patrols have gone woman hunting instead of man hunting." "Well—eh—yes." "Send another patrol out and see what’s on, and stop that awful din," ordered the irate C.O.