“Stalky? Like a serene Brahmini bull. Poor old Mac was at his Royal Engineers’ wits’ end to know what to do. You see I was putrid with dysentery, Tertius was ravin’, half the men had frost-bite, and Macnamara’s orders were to break camp and come in before winter. So Stalky, who hadn’t turned a hair, took half his supplies to save him the bother o’ luggin’ ’em back to the plains, and all the ammunition he could get at, and, _consilio et auxilio_ Rutton Singhi, tramped back to his fort with all his Sikhs and his precious prisoners, _and_ a lot of dissolute hangers-on that he and the prisoner had seduced into service. He had sixty men of sorts--and his brazen cheek. Mac nearly wept with joy when he went. You see there weren’t any explicit orders to Stalky to come in before the passes were blocked: Mac is a great man for orders, and Stalky’s a great man for orders--when they suit his book.” “He told me he was goin’ to the Engadine,” said Tertius. “Sat on my cot smokin’ a cigarette, and makin’ me laugh till I cried. Macnamara bundled the whole lot of us down to the plains next day. We were a walkin’ hospital.” “Stalky told me that Macnamara was a simple godsend to him,” said Dick Four. “I used to see him in Mac’s tent listenin’ to Mac playin’ the fiddle, and, between the pieces, wheedlin’ Mac out of picks and shovels and dynamite cartridges hand-over-fist. Well, that was the last we saw of Stalky. A week or so later the passes were shut with snow, and I don’t think Stalky wanted to be found particularly just then.” “He didn’t,” said the fair and fat Abanazar. “He didn’t. Ho, ho!” Dick Four threw up his thin, dry hand with the blue veins at the back of it. “Hold on a minute, Pussy; I’ll let you in at the proper time. I went down to my regiment, and that spring, five mouths later, I got off with a couple of companies on detachment: nominally to look after some friends of ours across the border; actually, of course, to recruit. It was a bit unfortunate, because an ass of a young Naick carried a frivolous blood-feud he’d inherited from his aunt into those hills, and the local gentry wouldn’t volunteer into my corps. Of course, the Naick had taken short leave to manage the business; that was all regular enough; _but_ he’d stalked my pet orderly’s uncle. It was an infernal shame, because I knew Harris of the Ghuznees would be covering that ground three months later, and he’d snaffle all the chaps I had my eyes on. Everybody was down on the Naick, because they felt he ought to have had the decency to postpone his--his disgustful amours till our companies were full strength.