“Humph!—and this flank?” “The same, sir.” Carmichael scratched his ear and for the first time took thought. “Lookee,” he said presently. “If I stop the pack track here and there are precipices on either side how can they get their horses out? I’ve got ’em bottled.” Curral shook his head. “I said _practically_ precipices, sir. Precipices to go _down_, but not to come _up_. As you yourself have probably observed, sir, a horse can scramble up anything, but he is a fool going down. A horse falling uphill doesn’t fall far, but a horse falling down a slope like that rolls to the bottom. A horse . . .” “Man,” snapped the cornet, “don’t talk to me about horses. My father keeps twenty. I know.” Curral coughed. “I beg your pardon, sir. The informer tells me there are a dozen places on either side by which these fellows can get their beasts to the level. Remember it is their own valley; they’re at home there, while we are strangers and in the dark.” “I wish you could get out of this habit of propounding the obvious,” said Carmichael. He dabbed his finger down on the map. “Look—supposing we wait for them out here across their line of march?” “They’d scatter all over the moor, sir. We’d be lucky if we caught a couple on a thick night like this.” Carmichael plumped down on a chair and savagely rubbed his curls. “Well, Mr. Riding Officer, I presume that in the face of these insurmountable difficulties you propose to sit down and do nothing—as usual. Let these damned ruffians run their gin, flout the law, do exactly as they like. Now let me tell you I’m of a different kidney, I . . .” “You will pardon me, sir,” said Curral quietly, “but I haven’t as yet been given the opportunity of proposing anything.” “What’s your plan then?” “How many men can you mount, sir?” “Forty with luck. I’ll have to beat the taverns for ’em.” “Very good, sir. Send a small detachment to stop the head of the track; not to be there before ten o’clock. The rest, under yourself, with me for guide, will ride to the top of the cliff which overhangs the village from the east and there leave the horses. The informer tells me there is a sheep-track leading down from there and they picket the top of it—an old man with a gun to fire if he hears anything. That picket will have to be silenced.” “Who’s going to do that?” the cornet inquired. “I’ve got a man of my own I think can do it. He was a great poacher before he got religion.” “And then?” “Then we’ll creep, single file, down the sheep-track, muster behind the pilchard sheds and rush the landing—the goods should be ashore by then. I trust that meets with your approval, sir?” The cornet nodded, sobered. “It does—you seem to be something of a tactician, Mr. . . . er . . . Curral.” “I served foreign with Lord Mark Kerr’s Regiment of Horse Guards, sir,” said the riding officer, picking up his whip. Carmichael’s jaw dropped. “Horse Guards! . . . Abroad! . . . One of _us_! Dash my guts, man, why didn’t you say so before?”