ress dear," said old Jack. "Sure thon's a
quare steady fellow, thon Doctor, an' he will hae an eye to Henry."

* * * * *

It was November, 1888, when our troops were obliged to retreat from the
Black Mountain, and Mrs. Archer's son and his friend were among them.
Need it be recorded here how bravely Englishmen had fought, how
unmurmuringly they had endured the extremity of cold and fatigue? Their
Gourka allies had stood by them well; but the wild Hill Tribes, the
"fine soldiers" of whom McGregor had told Jack Dunn, were getting the
best of it, and we were forced to retreat. Many months had passed since
the two friends first saw the Black Mountain, compared with which the
mightiest highland in wild Donegal, land of mountains, was an anthill.
Dear Gartan Lough was as a drop of water in their eyes, their
snipe-haunted marshes as a potato garden, when they saw the gigantic
scale of Indian scenery. Henry had fought well in many a skirmish and
had escaped without a wound. Malcolm had used his surgical skill pretty
often, generally with good effect. He was beloved by officers and men
for his kindness of heart. Was there a letter to be written for any poor
fellow--a last message to be sent home, words of Christian hope to be
spoken, Dr. McGregor was called upon.

On the 4th of November, the first column began the retreat, the enemy
"sniping," as usual, and a party had to be sent out to clear the flank,
before the troops left camp. The retiring column then got carefully
along the Chaila Ridge as far as the Ghoraphir Point, where some of the
5th Fusiliers were placed with a battery of guns, and ordered to remain
until all were passed. The enemy, in force, followed the last regiment
and were steadily shelled from the battery. The guns were then sent down
and the men, firing volleys, followed the guns, only two companies being
left. Of these, Lieutenant Archer and ten men were told to stay as the
last band to cover the retreat, and the enemy made a determined attempt
to annihilate them. McGregor was with Henry and his ten. All the pluck
that ever animated hero inspired those twelve men. Each felt the honour
of being chosen for such a post. No time for words; no time for more
thoughts than one, namely, "England expects every man to do his duty."

But of course Malcolm McGregor had a thought underlying the thought of
duty to Queen and country; he remembered his promise to the widowed
mother: he must