dead charger lay, A round shot had ploughed its way clean through the noble creature’s chest, and the sight was pitiable and gruesome. ‘Here is a mount, sir,’ said the young dragoon. ‘Not as good as your own, but it will carry you back to camp, anyhow.’ As he spoke, the epauletted cocked-hatted owner of the slaughtered charger was leaning downward, detaching something from a holster, and when he looked up he displayed the features of Major de Blacquaire. Until that instant neither could have recognised the other, but at the first glance there was a challenge in the eyes of either. ‘Thanks, my man,’ said De Blacquaire, laying a hand upon the rein which Polson held out towards him. Nothing could have been more savagely incisive than the tone, nothing more purposed to wound. ‘You caught this horse rather cleverly,’ said De Blacquaire, ‘and I’m very much obliged to you. Of course, you understand that a man doesn’t go into action with a lot of money about him; but if you’ll ask for me at headquarters this evening, Major de Blacquaire, you’ll find half-a-sovereign waiting for you. You can ask my man for it.’ The Major stood drawling there, with purposed insult in word and tone and smile, and Polson, leaning downward, drew his dragoon’s gauntlet from the left hand, and struck him across the face with it. ‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘that’s flat mutiny, and whilst I am about it, here’s another sample of the same.’ The Major retreated behind his horse, and stood there, almost speechless with indignation. ‘I threatened you with a hiding once before,’ said Polson. ‘And you were cur enough to run away. I told you on the day I joined that if we ever met again and by word or look or gesture you insulted me, I would spoil that handsome face of yours. You can report against me, if you like, and I dare say that if you do it may go pretty hard with me. But I will let you off for the moment with what you have taken, and for the present I will say good evening to you.’ He drew on his gauntlet as he spoke, and turned his horse’s head. ‘Wait there,’ said De Blacquaire. ‘I have just one word to say to you. You know that I could have you triced to the triangle and flogged?’ Polson nodded, but said nothing. His eyes spoke for him. ‘You know I could have you court-martialled and shot?’