g up from the
water-side. One was a young army subaltern, fresh from home, very
innocent and well-meaning, but belonging to that class of youth who,
because of a serene consciousness of vast inward resources, is certain
to fall a prey to circumstances. His companion was slightly older, a
young officer of the Naval Brigade under Lord Beresford. He was
squarely-set, with a frank, good-humoured face.

The subaltern was evidently showing his newly-arrived friend the
sights. "Those are the American Indians we've brought out to pilot the
boats," he explained, with a nod in the direction of a group of French
Canadians standing at the boat-slip; "rather a fine looking lot o'
beggars, aren't they?"

His companion laughed. "Indians be hanged!" he exclaimed merrily.
"More than half those fellows are no more Indians than you are. Jove,
it does a fellow's eyes good to see something from home. I'm going to
have a chat with them."

"Pshaw, you don't expect to find friends there, I hope. 'Pon honour,
they're red Indians, every one of them. Wolseley got 'em. And
Harcourt says they're the aboriginal thing."

"Your Colonel's an insular baa-lamb, Bobby; you can bet Wolseley never
said it. Surely, as I was born and brought up in Canada I'm likely to
know a red Indian from myself now, am I not?"

The subaltern looked annoyed. "I think you're mistaken this time," he
said with some dignity; "perhaps an odd one or so may be white, but the
majority are the real thing. Look at that big fellow there, now. I'll
bet two to one he's a full blood, anyway."

The other glanced at the man indicated. Scotty's face and arms, always
brown, had become almost copper-coloured in even his short exposure to
the Egyptian sun, and his lithe, muscular figure, leaning easily
against the tree, was not unlike that of the stalwart Caughnawagas from
the St. Lawrence, but as the young naval officer looked at him he
laughed derisively.

"Done with you," he cried gaily. "Go and ask him."

The subaltern marched up promptly to the voyageur. "I say, Canadian,"
he said somewhat stiffly, "here's a gentleman who says you're not an
Indian. Just tell him politely that he's mistaken, please."

Scotty turned from his contemplation of the camel to find, to his
surprise, that he was being addressed. But before he could reply, Dan
had forestalled him. That young man, whose red hair and Hibernian
features could have left no doubt even in the subaltern's mi