outlined in the bright red
stream that trickled from beneath the rolled-up shirt-sleeve of raspy
"greyback."

"We saw your hairy tied up outside, Doctor, and 'sensed' your whereabouts,
as McFadyen says. Can the ladies spare you for a moment? Sorry to be a
nuisance, but one of my fellows has got winged on our way to relieve the
garrison at Maxim Outpost South, and though he swears he is as fit as a
fiddle, I don't believe he ought to come on."

"I'm all right, Sir, 'pon me Sam I am!" protested the dismounted trooper.
"It's a bit stiff, but the bleedin' 'll take that off. I shan't shoot a
tikkie the worse for it. Lay anybody 'ere a caulker I don't!"

Nobody took up the bet, fortunately for the sportsman, as surgical
examination proved that the bullet had gone sheer through the fleshy part
of the upper arm, breaking the bone, just missing the artery, and leaving
a clean hole.

"You'll have to go to Hospital, my man," pronounced Saxham.

The face of the wounded Irregular lengthened in disgust. "My crimson luck!
And I'd made up my mind to pick off a brace o' them blasted Dutch wart
'ogs over that there bad job of pore Bob Ellis."

He blinked violently, and gulped down something that rose in his brown,
muscular throat as the voice of a comrade, middle-aged like himself,
coffee-baked as a Colonial, and also speaking with the accents of the
English barrack-room, took up the tale.

"Bob Ellis was 'is pal, Sir, and mine, too. We was in the same battery of
'Orse Artillery at Ali Musjid, an' we went up along of Lord Kitchener to
Khartoum. An' they shot Bob yesterday. Through the 'ead, clean, an' 'e
never spoke another word."

"Through the loop-'ole o' the parapet, it was," went on the wounded man.
"Bein' in the advance trench, we've got on neighbourly terms like, with
the Dutchies, and Tom Kelly, wot 'as just bin speakin', 'eard Bob Ellis
promisin' this bloke as 'ow if 'e'd on'y 'urry up an' git killed soon
enough, Bob would 'ave 'is farm and 'is frow when 'e come marchin' along
to Pretoria. 'Oppin' mad the Dopper was at that, an' the names 'e called
pore Bob was something disgraceful. An' when 'e got Bob through the
loop-'ole, me an' Kelly made our minds up to show a bit o' fancy shootin'
and lay 'im out in turn. That's 'ow it was, Sir. An' now"--the voice grew
shaky--"they've corked me. Corked me, by God I--an' there's not a bloke
among the lot of us but me can play the concertina." With his undamaged
arm he swung round