epeating one single "cuss."

My interest was immediately aroused. I smelt adventure, and I was on the
adventure trail. Hawk was not in my barrack-room, and therefore I knew
but little of him while in the old country. I heard that he had been
galloper-dispatch-rider to Lord Kitchener in South Africa, and I tried
to get him to talk about it. As an "artist's model," for a canvas to
be called "The Buccaneer," Hawk was perfect. I never saw a man so
splendidly developed.

And Hawk was fifty years old! You would take him for thirty-nine or so.

But "drink and the devil had done for the rest"--Hawk himself
acknowledged it. His vices were the vices of a strong man, and when he
was drunk he was "the very devil."

He was "the old soldier," and knew all the ins and outs of army life.
I quickly became entangled in the interest of unravelling his complex
nature. On the one hand he was said to be a desperado and double-dyed
liar. On the other hand, if he respected you, he would always tell you
the naked truth, and would never "let you down." He knew drink was his
ruin, but he could not and would not stop it. Yet his advice to me
was always good. Indeed, although he had the reputation of a bold, bad
blackguard, he never led any one else on the "wrong trail," and his
advice to young soldiers in the barrack-rooms was wonderfully clear and
useful.

If he respected you, you could trust your life with him. If he didn't,
you could "look up" for trouble. He was honest and "square"--if he liked
you--but he could make things disappear by "sleight of hand" in a manner
worthy of a West End conjurer.

He was a miner, and had a sound knowledge of mining and practical
geology which many a science-master might have been proud of. He had the
eyes of a trained observer, and I afterwards discovered he was a crack
shot.

Some months later, when the A.S.C. ambulance drivers were exercising
their horses, he showed himself a good rough-rider, and I recalled
his "galloper" days. And again at Lemnos and Suvla he was a splendid
swimmer. He was an all-round man. Unlike the other men in barracks--the
shop assistants and clerks--Hawk never missed noticing small things, and
it was this which first drew my attention to him.

I remember one night hearing a woman's voice wailing a queer Hindoo
chant. It came from the barrack-room door. Afterwards I discovered it
was Hawk sitting on his trestle bed cross-legged, with a bit of sacking
and ashes on his head im