_“One—two—three—four—five—six—seven—”_ counted the time-keeper, as men scarcely breathed in the dead silence into which the voice cut sharply—_“eight—”_ and, in perfect silence, every man of those thousands slowly rose to his feet—_“nine—OUT!”_ and such a roar arose as bade fair to rend the skies. _“Outed” in two rounds!_ Men howled like lunatics, and the Queen’s Greys behaved like very dangerous lunatics. Hawker flung his arms round Dam and endeavoured to raise him on his shoulders and chair him unaided. Bear and Goate got each a hand and proceeded to do their best to crush it. Seamen Jones and Smith exchanged a chaste kiss. Damocles de Warrenne was the hero of the Queen’s Greys. Best Man-at-Arms in the Division, winner in Sword v. Sword Mounted and Dismounted, Tent-pegging, Sword v. Lance, and Individual Jumping, and in the winning teams for Tug-of-War, Section Jumping, and Section Tent-pegging! “Give him a trial as Corporal then, from the first of next month, sir, if there’s no sign of anything wrong during the week,” agreed Captain Daunt, talking him over with the Colonel, after receiving through Troop-Sergeant-Major Scoles a petition to promote the man. Within twenty-four hours of his fight with the Gorilla, Dam found himself on sentry-go over what was known in the Regiment as “the Dead ’Ole”—which was the mortuary, situated in a lonely, isolated spot beyond a nullah some half-furlong from the Hospital, and cut off from view of human habitation by a belt of trees. On mounting guard that evening, the Sergeant of the Guard had been informed that a corpse lay in the mortuary, a young soldier having been taken ill and having died within a few hours, of some disease of a distinctly choleraic nature. “I’ll tell _you_ orf for that post, Matthewson,” said the Sergeant. “P’raps you’ll see ghosties there, for a change,” for it was customary to mount a sentry over “the Dead ’Ole” when it contained an occupant, and one of the sentry’s pleasing duties was to rap loudly and frequently upon the door throughout the night to scare away those vermin which are no respecters of persons when the persons happen to be dead and the vermin ravenous. “I’m not afraid of ghosts, Sergeant,” replied Dam—though his heart sank within him at the thought of the long lonely vigil in the dark, when he would be so utterly at the mercy of the Snake—the Snake over whom he had just won a signal victory, and who would be all the more vindictive and terrible in consequence. Could he keep sane through the lonely darkness of those dreadful hours? Perhaps—if he kept himself in some severe physical agony. He would put a spur beneath his tight-drawn belt and next to his skin, he would strike his knee frequently with the “toe of the butt” of his carbine, he would put pebbles in his boots, and he would cause cramp in his limbs, one after the other. Any kind of pain would help.