d at a bound with
this further adventure, and he began to rejoice somewhat prematurely in
his triumph over Carlyon's caution.

The man who had come to his assistance kept at his elbow throughout the
climb. Not a word was spoken. The men moved like cats through the
dimness. Below them was a confused din of rifle-firing. Their advance
had evidently not been detected.

"Silly owls! Wasting their ammunition!" murmured Derrick to the man
beside him. He received no response. A warning hand closed with a grip
on his elbow. And Derrick subsided.

When the moon rose, magnificent and glowing from behind the mountains,
Derrick and his men looked down from a high perch on the hillside, and
watched a furious party of tribesmen charge and occupy their abandoned
position.

"Now, this is good!" said Derrick, and he was in the act of firing his
revolver into the thick of the crowd below him when again the sinewy
hand of his unknown friend checked him.

"Hold your fire, man!" the man said, in his quiet, unmoved voice. "You
will want it presently."

But the stranger's hold tightened. He was standing in the shadow
slightly behind Derrick.

"Wait!" he said. "They will find you soon enough. You are not in a
position to take the offensive."

Derrick swung round with a restless word. And then he pulled up short.
He was facing a tribesman, gaunt and tall, with odd, light eyes that
glittered strangely in the moonlight. Derrick stared at the apparition,
dumbfounded. After a pause the man took his hand from the
correspondent's arm.

"Don't give the show away for want of a little caution!" he said. "There
are your men to think of, remember. This is no picnic."

Derrick was still staring hard at the strange figure before him.

"I say," he said at length, "what in the name of wonder are you?"

He heard a faint, contemptuous laugh. The unknown drew the end of his
_chuddah_ farther across his face.

"You are marvellously guileless for a war correspondent," he said. And
he turned on his heel and stalked away into the shadows.

Derrick stood gazing after him in stupefaction.

"A Secret Service agent, is he?" he murmured at length to himself. "By
Jove! What a marvellous fake! On Carlyon's business, I suppose. Confound
Carlyon! I'll tell him what I think of him if I come through this all
right."

Carlyon, in times of peace, was one of Derrick Rose's most intimate
friends. That Carlyon, upon whom he relied as upon a tower of strength
s