"Too much praise isn't good for a youngster," the elder brother sagaciously opined.

Spencer placed a hand on Ted's shoulder.

"All the same, young 'un, you won the Aurungpore Cup, and you deserved to win."

The party of four came to a halt opposite Colonel Woodburn's bungalow.

"What time shall we start back for Murdan to-morrow?" asked the lieutenant.

"We must leave early," Jim replied. "Will eight o'clock suit?"

"Very good," Spencer assented; "the young 'un and I will leave you here."

"But you must not think of leaving us yet, Mr. Spencer. Won't you come in? My father would be delighted to know you."

"Couldn't dream of it, Miss Woodburn, delighted though I should be to make the colonel's acquaintance. It will be some time before Russell gets leave again, and your last evening shall be sacred. Good-bye, Miss Woodburn! I'm very glad to have met you. And may I congratulate you both? I've known Russell well for some years, and I can congratulate you, and--forgive me for saying it--I've known you for a couple of days, and I do most sincerely congratulate him."

Ethel pressed the "horrid Guide man's" hand, and when he and Ted had departed, observed:

"Whilst congratulations are passing round, Jim, I congratulate you on your friend."

Ted shared a small, one-story residence just outside the town with his chum Ensign Paterson. His bedroom was only just large enough to allow sleeping-room for Jim, but hearing that Captain Russell's comrade of the Guides was coming to Aurungpore, Paterson had placed his equally limited accommodation at Spencer's disposal. Arrived at home, Ted doffed the pigskin and discussed horses and riding with his guest until the time came for them to sally forth once more. A dinner was to be given by the officers of the 193rd in honour of the triumph of their regiment. For the third time in succession they had won the Aurungpore Cup, and Ted was the hero of the hour. He enjoyed the role until, his health having been drunk with acclamation, he was called upon for a speech.

Such an ordeal had never been contemplated, and he had to be dragged to his feet, a victim of nervous funk. As he faced his quizzing comrades his mind was a blank; he stammered a few incoherent sentences intended for thanks, and abruptly sat down again, feeling convinced that he had qualified for a place in any home for the feeble-minded. Yet the older officers liked him better for this lack of self-confidence than had he shown no sign of confusion. In reply to the toast, "Our Guests", Lieutenant Spencer made a neat and witty speech that set everyone at his ease.

The ordeal over, Spencer, Paterson, and Ted returned to the little bungalow, and settled down to await Jim's arrival. Lieutenant Spencer filled his pipe and lay back in the one chair that the apartment boasted, Paterson sat straddle-legged across a camp-stool, and Ted squatted on a box with his back to the wall and his legs dangling. The room was lighted by a candle stuck in a bottle, for were they not in the "Gorgeous East" where luxury and splendour reign supreme?

"So you fellows of the 193rd are proud of your regiment!" the Guides'

officer observed.

"It's a first-class corps," Ted replied. "They fought like good 'uns throughout both Sikh wars. You see, we've Bhurtpore as well as Sobraon, Moodkee, and Gujerat on the colours; and the colonel says he'd lead 'em anywhere--they'd follow their officers to the death. Markham's the favourite with the men, though they're very fond of the 'old man' and Major Munro."

"Yours is a queer corps, is it not, Lieutenant Spencer?" Paterson asked.

Spencer chuckled.

"It is! But I'm proud of being in the Guides."

"They say," continued the Scotch boy, "that you have all the frontier races in the corps--Afridis, Afghans, and other Pathan tribes, Sikhs and Gurkhas--and that some of them have been robbers and outlaws, and murderers even. Is that true?"

Spencer chuckled still more.

"Quite true. We have all sorts--men with the best of characters, men with the worst, and men with no characters at all. We've outlaws and dacoits, thieves and murderers--though they don't call themselves murderers; they resemble the border raiders of Scotland of some hundreds of years ago. But every man who joins the Guides has to be strong, healthy, active, brave as a lion, able to track like a Red Indian, climb mountains, and think for himself. Lumsden gets hold of the most daring men on the border, such as Dilawur Khan and Futteh Khan and Bahram Khan, and makes Guides of them. They don't get coddled; and I guess we shall have more work to do in the future than any regiment in India. We've men of all races and creeds and men of no race or creed--mostly big truculent Pathans, and nearly a hundred jolly little Gurkhas sent us by the King of Nepal at Sir Henry Lawrence's request.

Oh, it's a grand corps! and we can get as many men as we like--scores apply for every vacancy. Why, there are dozens of fellows learning the drill at their own expense, both cavalry and infantry, waiting for an opportunity to join us. There's no other regiment in India or England can say the same."

"Well, I'd rather serve in the 193rd B.N.I.," Ted declared. "I shouldn't care to trust your Guides very far. Why, many of your Sikhs must have fought against us eight years ago; and as for the Afridis and Yusufzais, they're always raiding British territory and killing our men, whilst the sepoys of the 193rd have fought under British colours for half a century."

"That's right, young 'un; stick up for your regiment."

"Jim was going to tell me," Ted remarked, "something about that Pathan officer who was speaking to you this morning. Who is he?"

"Bahram Khan, do you mean?"

"Yes, that's the man. We noticed the natives shrinking from him when he looked at them. Why was that?"

The lieutenant lay back in his chair and smiled.

"His is a queer story and typical of the Guides," he replied. "A few years ago he was a well-known outlaw and brigand chief, who raided and burnt villages and robbed right and left. We could never catch him, so Lumsden, our colonel, offered to make him an officer if he'd join the Guides, and he consented and brought his brigands with him."

Paterson regarded the speaker curiously.

"Is that a fact?" he asked.

"It is an absolute fact."

"We'd keep that sort of ruffian out of the 193rd, wouldn't we, Paterson?" Ted asserted. "Aren't you afraid that you'll wake up some morning with all your throats cut?"

"Not in the least. I'd rather be with the Guides than any corps. With all respect to your sepoys of the 193rd, they've neither the stamina nor the resource of our fellows."

"H'm! you're welcome to them. Eh, Paterson?"

"I agree with you, Ted. Have you ever seen Colonel Nicholson, Lieutenant Spencer?"

"Jan Nikkulseyn? Rather. I sha'n't forget the first time I met him. It was south of Peshawur, close to the border, where a gang of Afghan labourers were making a road, protected by a half-company of sepoys under an English subaltern, for it was in a wild district. It was just after the rains, and a bullock-cart had stuck fast in the deep mud; and the bullocks, not having the grit of a horse, wouldn't make any efforts.

I happened to be riding past with a couple of troopers. A big fellow standing by in civilian dress had taken his coat off and put his shoulder to the wheel, but they couldn't move it. This civilian, whom I took to be the man in charge of the work, then asked the lieutenant and the sepoys to lend a hand. But the sepoys coolly informed him that they had enlisted to fight, not to do menial work, and the officer said:

"'It's no business of mine. I'm here to protect the road-makers, not to do their work.'

"I dismounted, and so did one of my two men. The other, Hafiz Khan, bent down and whispered:

"'I go to get help, Lieutenant Sahib'; and before I could stop him he was galloping away. Well, we two turned the scale--though the big civilian was worth us both--and at last we got the cart out and trotted away. A mile or two farther on we saw Hafiz Khan waiting for us, and when I slanged him for not staying to help us, he replied:

"'But he once threatened to hang me, Lieutenant Sahib, and Jan Nikkulseyn never breaks his word'.

"'Who?' I asked, quite taken aback.

"'Jan Nikkulseyn. I am not afraid of a little pushing and pulling, but of Jan Nikkulseyn are we all afraid.'

"The civilian was Colonel Nicholson. Hafiz Khan had been engaged in two or three raids before he had enlisted, and, bold as they are, there's not a Pathan along the border dare look Nicholson between the eyes."

"And what became of the lieutenant?" asked Ted.

"He applied for an important appointment at Peshawur a month later. He found out his mistake then, and felt sorry he'd ever been born."

A clatter of hoofs interrupted their talk, and Ted ran to the outer door to admit his brother. Captain Russell was quiet and grave, for his happy days had come to an end, and to-morrow the dull routine of regimental work would begin again. He was evidently little inclined for conversation, and before long the four officers passed off into the adjoining bedrooms.

Captain Russell was well liked by about one-half of his acquaintances, and disliked by a good proportion of the remainder. His friends knew him for a brave, good-hearted, conscientious man, and his detractors termed him a prig. The fault was in his manner, at times heavy, awkward, and solemn, largely the result of shyness, for with intimate friends he could be lively and full of fun.