w. Corporal
May? Corporal _Mayn't_, it ought to be. No, he needn't come to me for
his character. He'll have to go to Roby, who is trying his best to get
him promoted. Asked me the other day whether I didn't think he was the
next man for sergeant."

"What did you say?"

"Told Roby that he ought to be the very last."

"You did?"

"Of course: right out."

"What did Roby say?"

"Told me I was a fool--he didn't use that word, but he meant it--and
then said downright that fortunately my opinion as to the men's
qualities wasn't worth much."

"What did you say to that?"

"`Thankye;' that's all. Bah! It set me thinking about what a moll the
fellow was in that cave business. It was sheer cowardice, old man. He
confessed it, and through that your accident happened. I don't like
Corporal May, and I wish to goodness he wasn't with us to-night. I'm
hopeful, though."

"Hopeful? Of course. I dare say he'll behave very well."

"I daren't, old man; but I'm hopeful that he'll fall out with a sore
foot or a sprained ankle through stumbling over a stone or bush. That's
the sort of fellow who does--"

"Pst! We're talking too much," whispered Lennox, to turn the
conversation, which troubled him, for inwardly he felt ready to endorse
every word his comrade had uttered.

"Oh, I'm talking in a fly's whisper. What a fellow you are! Always
ready to defend anybody."

"Pst!"

"There you go again with your _Pst_! Just like a sick locomotive."

"What's that?"

"I didn't hear anything. Oh yes, I do. That howl. There it goes
again. One of those beautiful hyenas. I say, Drew."

"Yes?"

"My old people at home live in one of those aesthetic Surrey villages
full of old maids and cranks who keep all kinds of useless dogs and
cats. The old folks are awfully annoyed by them of a night. When I've
been down there staying for a visit I've felt ready to jump out of bed
and shell the neighbourhood with jugs, basins, and water-bottles. But
_lex talionis_, as the lawyers call it--pay 'em back in their own coin.
What a game it would be to take the old people home a nice pet hyena or
a young jackal to serenade the village of a night!"

"There is an old proverb about cutting your nose off to be revenged upon
your face. There, be quiet; I want to think of the work in hand."

"I don't," replied Dickenson; "not till we're going to begin, and then
I'm on."

The night grew darker as they drew nearer to their goal, for