he more personable man of the two. And the girl's blue eyes
had laughed up into the eyes of the stranger just exactly as, two
short weeks before, they had laughed up into his own. Then the
little gray broncho jumped cornerwise, and Weldon had difficulty in
impressing upon her that handsprings were not an approved form of
cavalry tactics. Nevertheless, he did it with a word of apology. For
the moment, the broncho was not wholly responsible for her return to
evil ways.

Over their breakfast, next morning, his five tentmates fell to
catechising him as to his pensive mood, and their catechism was
largely intermingled with chaff.

"Paddy's compliments, and roll up for your tucker," the mess orderly
proclaimed, as he came into the tent, brandishing a coffee pot in
one hand, the frying pan in the other.

Fork in hand, Carew nevertheless paused to take exception to the
word.

"I confess I can't see why Tucker, when it is supposed to untuck the
creases of us," he observed. "Hermit, shall I serve you in the
corner; or will you deign to join us about the festive frying pan?"

"What's the matter with Weldon, anyhow?" another of the group
queried, as dispassionately as if the subject of discussion had been
absent in Rhodesia. "His face is a yard long, and his lips hang down
in the slack of the corners."

"Brace up, man, and get over your grouch," a third adjured him. "You
are worse than O'Brien was, the morning after he was shoved in kink.
Were you in Cape Town, last night?"

"Not a bit of it," Carew put in hastily, while he buried his knife-blade
in the nearest pot of jam. "My left ear can prove an alibi for
him. From taps till midnight, Weldon discoursed of all the grewsome
things in the human calendar."

The smallest of the group turned himself about and peered up into
Weldon's face.

"Homesick, man?" he queried.

"Sure," Weldon replied imperturbably.

"Oh. Then get over it. Just dream of the days when the bronchos
cease from bucking and the Stringies shoot no more. Meanwhile, if
you could look pleasant, as the photographers say, it would help on
things wonderfully."

But the mess orderly interrupted. He had tidings to impart, and they
burned upon his tongue.

"Have you heard about Eaton-Hill?" he asked, in the first pause that
offered itself.

Five faces turned to him with gratifying expectancy. Eaton-Hill had
come out on the Dunottar Castle. He was known to them all as the
acknowledged exquisite of the enti