imself comfortable, cool beggar
that he was, and now was probably sleeping. He should be left alone; so
he persuaded St. John that the best point to take their stand on was on
a shoulder of hill beyond the fire. It gave him honest pleasure to
think that at last he had stolen a march on his friend. He should at
least have his sleep in peace before the inevitable end.

He looked at his watch; it was almost half-past eleven.

"Haystoun said they'd be here at midnight," he whispered to his
companion. "We haven't long. When do you suppose Andover will come?"

"Not for an hour and a half at the earliest. Afraid this is going to be
our own private show. Where's Haystoun?"

George nodded back to the fire in the hollow, and the tent beside it.
"There, I expect, sleeping. He's dog-tired, and he always was a very
cool hand in a row. He'll be wakened soon enough, poor chap."

"You're sure he can't tell us anything?"

"Nothing. He told me all. Better let him be." Mitchinson came up with
the rearguard. Living all but alone in the wilds had made him a silent
man compared to whom the taciturn St. John was garrulous. He nodded to
George and sat down.

"How many are we?" George asked.

"Forty-three, counting the three of us. Not enough for a good stand.
Wonder how it'll turn out. Never had to do such a thing before."

St. John, whose soul longed for Maxims, posted his men as best he
could. There was no time to throw up earthworks, but a rough cairn of
stone which stood in the middle of the hollow gave at least a central
rallying-ground. Then they waited, watching the fleecy night vapours
blow across the peaks and straining their ears for the first sound of
men.

George grew impatient. "It can't be more than five miles to the pass.
Shouldn't some of us try to get there? It would make all the
difference."

St. John declined sharply. "We've taken our place and we must stick to
it. We can't afford to straggle. Hullo! it's just on twelve. Thwaite
has had three hours to prepare, and he's bound to have wakened the
south. I fancy the business won't quite come off this time."

Suddenly in the chilly silence there rose something like the faint and
distant sound of rifles. It was no more than the sound of stone
dropping on a rock ledge, for, still and clear and cold though the night
was, the narrowness of the valley and the height of the cliffs dulled
all distant sounds. But each man had the ear of the old hunter, and
waited with hea