'I'm to report that--am I?' said Mulvaney slowly. 'Very well. If
Orth'ris manes to desert now, and will desert now, an' you, Sorr, who
have been a frind to me an' to him, will help him to ut, I, Terence
Mulvaney, on my oath which I've never bruk yet, will report as you
say. But----' here he stepped up to Ortheris, and shook the stock of
the fowling-piece in his face--'your fistes help you, Stanley
Orth'ris, if ever I come across you agin!'

'I don't care!' said Ortheris. 'I'm sick o' this dorg's life. Give me
a chanst. Don't play with me. Le' me go!'

'Strip,' said I, 'and change with me, and then I'll tell you what to
do.'

I hoped that the absurdity of this would check Ortheris; but he had
kicked off his ammunition-boots and got rid of his tunic almost before
I had loosed my shirt-collar. Mulvaney gripped me by the arm:--

'The fit's on him: the fit's workin' on him still! By my Honour and
Sowl, we shall be accessiry to a desartion yet. Only twenty-eight
days, as you say, Sorr, or fifty-six, but think o' the shame--the
black shame to him an' me!' I had never seen Mulvaney so excited.

But Ortheris was quite calm, and, as soon as he had exchanged clothes
with me, and I stood up a Private of the Line, he said shortly, 'Now!
Come on. What nex'? D'ye mean fair. What must I do to get out o' this
'ere a-Hell?'

I told him that, if he would wait for two or three hours near the
river, I would ride into the Station and come back with one hundred
rupees. He would, with that money in his pocket, walk to the nearest
side-station on the line, about five miles away, and would there take
a first-class ticket for Karachi. Knowing that he had no money on him
when he went out shooting, his regiment would not immediately wire to
the seaports, but would hunt for him in the native villages near the
river. Further, no one would think of seeking a deserter in a
first-class carriage. At Karachi, he was to buy white clothes and
ship, if he could, on a cargo-steamer.

Here he broke in. If I helped him to Karachi, he would arrange all the
rest. Then I ordered him to wait where he was until it was dark enough
for me to ride into the station without my dress being noticed. Now
God in His wisdom has made the heart of the British Soldier, who is
very often an unlicked ruffian, as soft as the heart of a little
child, in order that he may believe in and follow his officers into
tight and nasty places. He does not so readily come to believe