hought of your being butchered here
alone, supposing the beggars come before we get back. You're sure there
is time?"

"You've three hours before you, but every moment is important. This is
the frontier line, and this fire will do for one of the signals. You'll
find me here. I haven't slept for days." And he yawned with feigned
drowsiness.

"Then--good-bye," said George solemnly, holding out his hand a second
time. "Remember, I'm devilish anxious about you. It's a pretty hot job
for us all; but, gad! if we pull through you get the credit."

Then with a single backward glance he led the way down the narrow track,
two mystified servants at his heels.

Lewis watched him disappear, and then turned sadly to his proper
business. This was the end of a very old song, and his heart cried out
at the thought. He heaped more wood on the blaze from the little pile
collected, and soon a roaring, boisterous fire burned in the glen, while
giant shadows danced on the sombre hills. Then he rummaged in the tent
till he found the rifles, carefully cleaned and laid aside. He selected
two express 400 bores, a Metford express and a smooth-bore Winchester
repeater. Then he filled his pockets with cartridges, and from a small
box took a handful for his revolver. All this he did in a sort of
sobbing haste, turning nervous eyes always to the mouth of the canon.
He filled his flask from a case in the tent, and, being still ravenously
hungry, crammed the remnants of supper into a capacious game-pocket.
Then, all preparations being made, he looked for a moment down the road
where his best friend had just gone out of his ken for ever. The
thought was so dreary that he did not dare to delay longer, but with a
bundle of ironmongery below his arms began to scramble up the glen to
where the north star burned between two peaks of hill.

He did the journey in an hour, for he was in a pitiable state of
anxiety. Every moment he looked to hear the tramp of an army before
him, and know his errand of no avail. Over the little barrier ridge he
scrambled, and then up the straight gully to the little black rift which
was the gate of an empire. His unquiet mind peopled the wilderness with
voices, but when, breathless and sore, he came into the jaws of the
pass, all was still, silent as the grave, save for an eagle which
croaked from some eyrie in the cliffs.

CHAPTER XXXI

EVENTS SOUTH OF THE BORDER

Thwaite was finishing a solitary dinner and attempt