thanked him with her eyes.

A moment later he was kneeling in the mud, rapidly unfastening boots
and gaiters; for one downward glance had convinced him that it would be
a matter of climbing, and difficult climbing at that.

By now Colonel Mayhew had dismounted also; and as Desmond stood
upright--in socks and breeches--and flung aside his dripping helmet,
the older man drew him to the path's edge.

"Look here, my dear chap," he mid, when they were out of earshot of the
group, who sat spellbound in the grip of tragedy, "are you justified in
running a serious risk, probably--to no purpose? For I'm afraid poor
Lenox hasn't a ghost of a chance. You're a married man, remember; and
it looks to me uncommonly like madness to attempt that _khud_ in such
weather. It'll be a case of holding on with your eyelids; and there's
a coolie track not far from here, that leads down to the valley."

Desmond's month took the dogged line that his _sowars_ knew and loved;
and a combatant light flashed in his eyes.

"Your blood's cooler than mine, sir," he answered quietly. "But I have
a fairly steady head; and my wife would be the last person in the world
to hold me back, thank God. In such cases five or ten minutes may mean
just the difference between life . . . and death. If you will get
together some sort of a stretcher--a good strong one--and come on
post-haste down the coolie track, I'll be grateful. I suppose we
haven't a drop of brandy among us?--bad luck to it!"

"There's a provision _kilter_ on one of the coolies. Shall we have it
turned out, on the chance?"

"Good Lord, yes. Get it done at once, please." Then he turned to
Garth. "I say, Major, gallop on, will you, and catch up Dr O'Malley.
I saw him start with the last contingent. They can't be more than two
miles ahead."

And as Garth obeyed the peremptory request, the devil himself must have
whispered to his heart the despicable suggestion that possibly Fate had
struck a blow in his favour after all.

Colonel Mayhew, meanwhile, rummaging feverishly in the depths of the
_kilter_ with scant hope of success, bestrewed the wet earth on all
sides of him with canned fruits, sardines, greasy jharrons, and
crumpled wads of newspaper: till at length, like Hope out of Pandora's
casket, there came forth from an unsuspicious-looking bundle of clothes
half a bottle of brandy, stowed carefully away by the kitmutgar, for
private ends best known to himself.

Desmond, who st