its carpet of fir-tops--dark-green, soft,
luxurious. Far down to the bottom and up again, in waving curves it
swept, to the summit of the distant mountains opposite, and through this
dark-green mass the broad river ran like a silver ribbon gleaming in the
sunlight.

Following the line of the trail, my eye fell upon that which has often
made men's hearts hard and lured them on to joyous death. There, above
the green tree-tops, in a clearing, stood a tall white mast and from the
peak, flaunting its lazy, proud defiance, flew a Union Jack.

"Now, Ginger, how in the name of the Empire comes that brave rag to be
shaking itself out over these valleys!"

Ginger knew not, but, in answer to my heels, set off at a canter down
the slope and, in a few minutes, we reached a grassy bench that
stretched down to the river-bank. On the bench was huddled an irregular
group of shacks and cabins and, in front of the first and most imposing
of them, stood the tall mast with its floating flag. On the wide
platform that ran in front of this log cabin a man was sitting, smoking
a short bull-dog pipe. By his dress and style I saw at once that he had
served in Her Majesty's army. As I rode up under the flag I lifted my
cap, held it high and called out: "God save the Queen!" Instantly he was
on his feet and, coming to attention with a military salute, replied
with great fervor: "God bless her!" From that moment he took me to his
heart.

That was my introduction to "Ould Michael," as everyone in the Valley
called him, and as he called himself.

After his fifth glass, when he would become dignified, "Ould Michael"
would drop his brogue and speak of himself as "Sergeant McGrath, late of
Her Majesty's Ninety-third Highlanders," Irishman though he was.

Though he had passed his sixtieth year, he was still erect and brisk
enough in his movement, save for a slight hitch in his left leg. "A
touch of a knife," he explained, "in the Skoonder Bag."

"The where?"

"Skoonder Bag, forninst the walls the Lucknow--to the left over, ye
understand."

"I'm ashamed to say I don't," I answered, feeling that I was on the
track of a yarn.

He looked at me pityingly.

"Ye've heard av Sir Colin?" He was not going to take anything for
granted.

I replied hastily: "Sir Colin Campbell, of course."

"Well, we was followin' Sir Colin up to the belagured city when we run
into the Skoonder Bag--big stone walls and windys high up, and full av
min, like a jail,