y are men enough to
look after themselves now."

"What?" Duncannon flung the word with violence. He took a single stride
forward, standing over Herne in an attitude that was almost menacing.
His hands were clenched. "What?" he said again.

Herne leaned back, and felt for his cigarette-case.

"Take it easy, old chap!" he said. "It was bound to come, you know. It
was never meant to be more than a temporary occupation among these
friendlies. They have been useful to us, I admit. But we can't fight
their battles for them for ever. It's time for them to stand on their
own legs. Have a smoke!"

Duncannon ignored the invitation. He turned pale to the lips. For a
space of seconds he said nothing whatever. Then at length, slowly, in a
voice that was curiously even, "Yes, I've taught 'em to fight," he said.
"And now I'm to leave 'em to be massacred, am I?"

Herne shrugged his shoulders again, not because he was actually
indifferent, but because, under the circumstances, it was the easiest
answer to make.

Duncannon went on in the same dead-level tone:

"Yes, they've been useful to us, these friendlies. They've made common
cause with us against those infernal Wandis. They might have stayed
neutral, or they might have whipped us off the ground. But they didn't.
They brought us supplies, and they brought us mules, and they helped us
along generally, and hauled us out of tight corners. They've given us
all we asked for, and more to it. And now they are going to pay the
penalty, to reap our gratitude. They're going to be left to themselves
to fight our enemies--the fellows we couldn't beat--single-handed,
without experience, without a leader, and only half trained. They are
going to be left as a human sacrifice to pay our debts."

He paused, standing erect and tense, staring out into the blinding
sunlight. Then suddenly, like the swift kindling of a flame, his
attitude changed. He flung up his hands with a wild gesture.

"No, I'm damned!" he cried violently. "I'm damned if they shall! They
are my men--the men I made. I've taught 'em every blessed thing they
know. I've taught 'em to reverence the old flag, and I'm damned if I'll
see them betrayed! You can go back to the Chief, and tell him so! Tell
him they're British subjects, staunch to the backbone! Why, they can
even sing the first verse of the National Anthem! You'll hear them at
it to-night before they turn in. They always do. It's a sort of evening
hymn to them. Oh, M