ver happens,
follow the ball. Who goes out first?"

Kittiwynk, Shiraz, Polaris, and a short high little bay fellow with
tremendous hocks and no withers worth speaking of (he was called Corks)
were being girthed up, and the soldiers in the background stared with
all their eyes.

"I want you men to keep quiet," said Lutyens, the captain of the team,
"and especially not to blow your pipes."

"Not if we win, Captain Sahib?" asked the piper.

"If we win you can do what you please," said Lutyens, with a smile, as
he slipped the loop of his stick over his wrist, and wheeled to canter
to his place. The Archangels' ponies were a little bit above themselves
on account of the many-coloured crowd so close to the ground. Their
riders were excellent players, but they were a team of crack players
instead of a crack team; and that made all the difference in the world.
They honestly meant to play together, but it is very hard for four men,
each the best of the team he is picked from, to remember that in polo
no brilliancy in hitting or riding makes up for playing alone. Their
captain shouted his orders to them by name, and it is a curious thing
that if you call his name aloud in public after an Englishman you make
him hot and fretty. Lutyens said nothing to his men, because it had all
been said before. He pulled up Shiraz, for he was playing "back," to
guard the goal. Powell on Polaris was half-back, and Macnamara and
Hughes on Corks and Kittiwynk were forwards. The tough, bamboo ball was
set in the middle of the ground, one hundred and fifty yards from the
ends, and Hughes crossed sticks, heads up, with the Captain of the
Archangels, who saw fit to play forward; that is a place from which you
cannot easily control your team. The little click as the cane-shafts met
was heard all over the ground, and then Hughes made some sort of quick
wrist-stroke that just dribbled the ball a few yards. Kittiwynk knew
that stroke of old, and followed as a cat follows a mouse. While the
Captain of the Archangels was wrenching his pony round, Hughes struck
with all his strength, and next instant Kittiwynk was away, Corks
following close behind her, their little feet pattering like raindrops
on glass.

"Pull out to the left," said Kittiwynk between her teeth; "it's coming
your way, Corks!"

The back and half-back of the Archangels were tearing down on her just
as she was within reach of the ball. Hughes leaned forward with a loose
rein, and cut it