of native infantry when they had met on the hill campaign.

Benson, however, was not to be deterred.

"This gentleman old friend of mine; never agreed with solemn old
Colonel, but they wouldn't listen to me. Very black night in India;
ghazees coming yelling up the hill; nothing would stop 'em. Rifles
cracking, Nepalese comp'ny busy with the bayonet; and in the thick of
it the bugle goes----"

Raising a hand to his mouth, he gave a shrill imitation of the call to
cease firing, and then lost his balance and fell over the chair with a
crash.

"Leave him to me," said Gardner, seizing the fallen man and with some
difficulty lifting him to his feet. After he pushed him through the
door there were sounds of a scuffle, and a few minutes later Gardner
came back with a bruise on his face.

"He's quiet now, and the bartender will put him to bed," he said.

There was silence for the next few moments, for the group on the
veranda had been impressed by the scene; then a man came up the steps.
He was dressed in old brown overalls and carried a riding quirt, but
Harding recognized him as the man they had met at the hotel in Montreal.

"Have you got Benson here?" he asked.

"Sure," said Gardner. "He's left his mark on my cheek. Why don't you
look after the fool? You must have come pretty quietly; I didn't hear