have been a bad place for a small party to have been attacked in, but
fortunately, though several armed tribesmen were seen, they did not fire
at us. At one point the route lay through a deep nullah, along which
some of the assailants of the night before had retired. These were
probably from the Charmanga Valley. They had evidently suffered losses.
Several native beds on which wounded men had been carried lay scattered
about. At this place they had probably found some oxen, to which they
had transferred their bodies. At length we got clear of the difficult
ground, and entering the smooth plain of Nawagai looked out eagerly for
the brigade. Seven miles away across the valley was a long brown streak.
It was the troops marching from Markhanai to the entrance of the Mamund
Valley. The smoke of five burning villages rose in a tall column into
the air--blue against the mountains, brown against the sky. An hour's
riding brought us to the brigade. Every one was full of the events of
the night, and all looked worn from having had no sleep. "You were very
lucky to be out of it," they said. "There's plenty more coming."

The cavalry soon returned from their pursuit. The points of their lances
were covered with dark smears. A sowar displayed his weapon proudly to
some Sikhs, who grinned in appreciation. "How many?" was the question
asked on all sides. "Twenty-one," replied the officer. "But they're full
of fight."

Orders were now issued for the brigade to camp on the open ground near
Inayat Kila, which, translated, means Fort Grant, and is the name of a
considerable stone stronghold belonging to the Khan of Khar. Although
the troops were very tired from their march, and the fighting of the
preceding night, they began entrenching with alacrity. Besides making
an outer wall to the camp, about three and a half feet high, everybody
scratched a little hole for himself. In these occupations the afternoon
passed.

The Buffs came in at sunset, having marched from the top of the Rambat
Pass. They had heard the firing of the night and were disappointed at
having been absent. It was "just their luck," they said. During the
Chitral campaign of 1895, they had had the ill-fortune to miss every
engagement. It would be the same now. All tried to reassure them. As
soon as it was dark an attack was probable.

A dropping fire began after dinner from the great nullah to the north
of the camp, and all lights were put out and the tents struck. Every