Then followed a short conversation flickered over ten miles of space.

"Are you beset?" asked the Valley,

"No," replied the Hill.

"Is the enemy in sight?"

"No," replied the Mountain, again, with a sharp click.

"Are you all well?" flashed from below.

"Yes," from above.

Then the "Good-bye," and the glimmer of the bayonets began again.

Two hours later Major Agar drew his absurd little force in line, and thus
they received the relieving column, grimly conscious of dangers past but
not forgotten.

At the head of the new-comers rode a little man with a prominent chin and
a long drooping nose; such a remarkable-looking little man that the
veriest tyro at physiognomy would have turned to look at him again. His
black eyes, beaming with intelligence, moved so quickly beneath the
steady lashes that it was next to an impossibility to state what he saw
and what he failed to see.

He returned Agar's salute hurriedly, with a preoccupied air. He wore a
quiet uniform tunic almost hidden by black braiding, a pith helmet which
had seen brighter days and likewise fouler, and the leg that he threw