distance. He looked at them with a queer smile.

"Are you the Scottish Horse?" he asked inquiringly.

"We are the blanky camel corps," was the answer.

That march at both ends of the motor trip was the adjutant's salvation.
When the battalion splashed up to its appointed billets, and found them
calculated for receiving only half of its number of soldiers awake, he
shifted two-thirds of them in; and, as they promptly fell to sleep the
moment the column ceased to move, he shifted in the remainder when they
were asleep.

When the battalion drew its breath next morning, it was inclined to
think that it was enduring the full horror of war; and was preparing to
summarise the situation. But before it could draw a second breath it was
marched off to--to what I will call a reserve camp. It was not
technically a reserve camp, which was farther on; but they knew it was a
camp for battalions to rest in--when they have been very good, and it
is desired to give them time to recover their wind. They were rather
"bucked" with the idea of this resting-place.

At midday they arrived there. That is to say, they waded up to a
collection of little tents, not unlike bushmen's tents in Australia, and
stood knee deep at the entrances, looking into them--speechless. They
were not much by way of tents at the best of times. There was nearly as
much mud inside as there was outside. But on top of the normal
conditions came the fact that the last battalion to occupy those tents
must have camped there in dry weather. Since there was not enough
headroom upwards it had dug downwards. And, as it had not put a drain