h, and those two
facts may even induce them to let us go without a fuss. Otherwise I
should have proposed spiking the guns, which are in a state of
rottenness calculated to do more harm to us than to the enemy, and
leaving the hotties, taking the women behind us on our horses. But if
by making an awe-inspiring impression we can get away without a fight,
it's just as well under the circumstances--especially as the Rani has
promised us our fill of gore later on. I should say, start as soon as
the moon rises, in two hours or so. We can't go at once, because the
Rani's hotty and the one we have been using all day will require a
little rest, or I should have advised that."

"But Sher Singh will simply follow and attack us on the march, and he
has the big battalions."

"Now look here, Hal. You'll allow that I know something of the country
through which I came two days ago? Two marches will take us well into
Darwan, where Sher Singh don't dare follow us, or he will have the
Darwanis up round him like a hive of bees. The place where he will try
to stop us is a rough jungly bit about half-way--one of the disputed
boundary districts. We must get through it by daylight. Six hours'
forced march to-night will bring us nearly to it. We halt for another
two hours' rest, and then press on at once. Once through that bit we
are practically safe. Marching morning and afternoon we should not
reach it till evening, and during the night Sher Singh would have ample
time to lay an ambush for us. If we take him by surprise, any
thoughtful preparations on his part must be fairly sketchy in
character."

"I see your point. But no one can help knowing we are starting at once
when they see the tents being struck."

"Then leave 'em standing. You can take your clothes and your papers
and your hair-brushes, and sacrifice the rest. Oh, I know you are
still dragging about with you the chest of drawers you got for the
cabin when we came out, and the long chair you bought at Madeira----"

"Nonsense!" said Gerrard, rather vexed. "But I like my own things
about me, I confess."

"The very reason why you should be deprived of 'em! You won't know the
proper wilderness spirit till you are. What's a chair? Something to
sit on when the ground's dirty or swampy. A table? Something to eat
off or write at when there ain't a flat rock handy. Not friends--not
pieces of yourself--which is what you make of 'em. Release yourself
from this t