Alec explained briefly, and introduced Ted.

"Oh, I've heard of you, Mr. Russell," said the horseman, "and I'm proud to meet you."

"Well, explain what you are doing here in that uniform. Didn't know they had ensigns in Hodson's."

"I'm a loot'nant," laughed Boldre; "that is, temporary rank conferred by John Nicholson. I've no commission at all really, but I helped to raise a troop or two of these fellows by sheer good luck."

"You helped to raise them?"

"Yes; I'll tell you the story some other time. They had captured me, and were about to shoot me, when the news of Nicholson's disarming the sepoys at Peshawur came to hand. Then they changed sides cheerfully, and wanted to enlist under Nicholson, and I brought them along to Peshawur.

They are rummy beggars! It's first-class being with them. Where are you now--upon the Ridge?"

Ted explained their position, and Boldre promised to look them up as soon as he could. Hodson then appeared on the scene, and the Flamingoes trotted away.

Early in July General Barnard died of cholera after a few hours'

illness. His successor, General Reed, had to relinquish the command through ill-health before the middle of the month, so Sir Archdale Wilson was appointed. He was the fourth general who had commanded the force within the space of ten weeks.

Now and again Ted was sent by Major Reid to bear his reports to the general in command. On one of these occasions he had no sooner entered the head-quarters tent than General Wilson greeted him with the amazing words:

"Ensign Russell! This is fortunate, for I was about to send for you."

"Yes, sir," Ted replied, and wondered what was coming.

"You distinguished yourself at Aurungpore, I understand?"

"I was at Aurungpore, sir."

The general regarded him curiously for a moment before he resumed.

"Major Munro, who commanded your late regiment after the disablement of the colonel, has recommended you for the Victoria Cross. I have looked into the matter carefully, and cordially approve the recommendation, so there is little doubt that you will obtain the decoration. I congratulate you, Ensign Russell; you acted as an English lad should."

Sir Archdale Wilson shook hands, and at the same time a man rose painfully from his chair by the general's side--a man lame and feeble, worn out by disease; a man who should have been in hospital, had not his spirit been stronger than his body. He grasped the boy's hand, and cordially exclaimed, "Well done, youngster! well done!"

That man was Colonel Baird Smith, the great engineer, the man in whose hands General Wilson had left all the operations for the capture of Delhi; the man who was even now forming his great plan and scheming his wonderful works for the assault.

Ted left the tent, walking as if in a dream, hardly knowing whether he stood on his head or his feet. The V.C.! He, Ted Russell, to have the V.C.!

He hurried back to consult with Alec, and it seemed as though every man, horse or foot, officer, private, or humble bhisti, was looking at him and discussing his good fortune. He started and came to himself as Claude Boldre touched him on the shoulder.

"How do you do, Mr. Russell?" he said. "If you are going up towards the Gurkha picket I should like to go with you. Alec Paterson used to be a great chum of mine at school. Oh! allow me to introduce you to Lieutenant Roberts of the Bengal Artillery."

Ted nodded to Boldre's companion, a young man, slight and short of stature, with a frank, open countenance that told of an active, intelligent brain, and a brave, true heart. He was attired in the handsome uniform of the dashing Artillery Corps, and Ted liked his new acquaintance at once.

"I've only just arrived," said the gunner, "and I want to see everything. Tell me all about Hindu Rao's house."

Glad of the opportunity, the ensign told the story of the Ridge, and for a few moments forgot the V.C.

"You seem to have enjoyed yourself," Boldre commented.

Ted blushed. "Well, it has been rather exciting, and you see I've not suffered. It's different for those fellows who have."

The artillery lieutenant smiled as he looked at the boy's cheek.

"You seem to have had one cut at least," he observed.

"Oh, that was nothing!" Ted replied.

They had approached the Valley of the Shadow of Death, as a hollow on the Ridge was called on account of its exposure to the rebel fire, when a shell burst not forty yards away. Ted noticed with admiration that though Boldre and he both started as if hit, the gunner officer never turned a hair, but calmly completed the remark he was making. The boy felt that he was in the presence of no ordinary man. Before taking his visitors into the house Ted pointed out the different gates and bastions of the city. As they were surveying these, Alec and Charlie came up.

Lieutenant Roberts looked steadfastly at the latter and exclaimed:

"Hullo, ain't you Lieutenant Dorricot?"

Charlie looked keenly at his questioner.

"That's my name, but I don't know you from the Grand Mogul."

"That's not strange; I was only thirteen and in the fourth form at Eton when you left. I'm Fred Roberts, and we were both under the same tutor, the Rev. Eyre Young. You were some years older than I, and I chiefly remember you because I admired the way you once gave a jolly good thrashing to a bully--I forget his name, but he was ill-treating a youngster."

Charlie laughed and shook hands, saying, "Turkey Bletcher, you mean! So you remember that? What are you doing here?"

"I've just come. Been with the Movable Column, but applied to come here, and they gave me permission."

"Are you on the staff?"

"Yes; I've just applied for the post of deputy-assistant-quartermaster-general for artillery, and I've been lucky enough to get it."

"So you're the D. A. Q. M. G., are you?" said Dorricot, with some respect that one so young should have obtained this important post.

They little thought that this slight and young lieutenant was destined to become one of Britain's greatest and best-beloved soldiers, Field-marshal Earl Roberts of Kandahar and Pretoria, V.C.

"So you've been with Nicholson?" said Paterson, who was a great admirer of that frontier hero and demi-god. "He's a wonderful leader, I suppose?"

"The finest soldier in the world!" Lieutenant Roberts quietly asserted.

"Rather!" chimed in Claude Boldre. "He's a grand man. I've been lucky in experiencing what the Pathans along the frontier think of him. They consider him a sort of second Mahomet."

"I suppose he's performing miracles in the Punjab," said Alec. "Is it really true that they worship him as a god?"

"Up in Hazara," replied the artilleryman, "they've formed a sect called the Nikkulseyns, and though Nicholson only thrashed them when they worshipped him, they considered it an honour to be whipped by him, and those who didn't get a licking envied their more fortunate neighbours.

The fakir who founded the sect bothered Nikkulseyn to give him his old beaver hat, and as he received no encouragement, the wily old gentleman procured one like it. He then went the round of the shops at the busiest time of the day, and placed the hat in the doorway, so that none might leave or enter without removing or kicking it over. When customers were about to enter, the fakir called out, warning them not to desecrate the topi which had been worn by the great and mighty and holy Nikkulseyn.

Nicholson was such a power in the land that none dared remove it, and at last the old fraud consented to take it away on being paid one rupee by the shopkeeper. He would thereupon proceed to another shop and repeat these tactics. When Nicholson heard of this he gave the fakir and his disciples a sound hiding all round, but they only sang hymns of praise to him."

"He was worshipped in Bunnu almost as much as in Hazara, was he not?"

enquired Paterson; and Claude Boldre replied:

"Yes, he was both worshipped and feared. Before he went there, an orphan boy had been cheated out of his land by his guardian uncle, named Allodad Khan. A few years later the young man went to law in order to recover his property, but Allodad Khan, who was a rich powerful man, had bribed and threatened all the village, and none would give evidence against him. Nicholson heard of this, and guessed how matters stood. One morning, just after dawn, a villager, going out early, was spell-bound at seeing Nicholson's well-known white mare cropping the grass outside the village. He ran back and breathlessly told the news. All the inhabitants turned out to gaze, and someone quickly perceived Nicholson himself tied to a tree close by. Their first thought was to run away, but a few plucked up sufficient spirit to go tremblingly to the commissioner's aid. In terrible wrath Nicholson asked who had dared to treat him like this. They bowed before him, but so terrified were they that no one could answer. 'Whose land is this, then?' he demanded. 'The owner of the land is responsible.' The villagers pointed to Allodad Khan, who fell on his knees, declaring, 'No, no, sahib, the land is my nephew's. He is responsible for the outrage.' Nicholson sternly made him swear to this before the whole village, and then the ruffian saw that he'd been made a fool of. So the nephew got possession of the estate and money, and Allodad Khan, finding the village too warm for him, went on a pilgrimage to Mecca."

"He must be a wonderful man," Alec murmured half to himself. "I wish he'd come to Delhi."