"I had heard nothing of it, sir?"

"If this news be true, the Russians appear to be better informed than you are, McKay."

"And are preparing to oppose our movement?"

"That's just what I should like to know, and what gives so much importance to these tidings. I only wish we could verify them. Where is your messenger? Who is he?"

"A half-witted old Tartar; you will get nothing out of him, sir. I have been trying hard this half-hour."

"But you know where the news comes from. Could you not follow it up to its source?"

"I will do so at once, sir;" and within half-an-hour McKay was in his saddle, riding down to Balaclava.

Valetta Joe was in his shop, distributing a batch of newly-baked bread to a number of itinerant vendors, each bound to retail the loaves in the various camps.

McKay waited until the place was clear, then accosted the baker sharply.

"What was the good of your sending that old numbskull to me?"

"He give you letter. You not understand?"

"Yes, yes, I understand; but I want to be certain it is true."

"When Joe tell lies? You believe him before; if you like, believe him again."

"But can't you tell me more about it? How many troops have the Russians collected? Since when? What do they mean to do?"

"You ask Russian general, not me; I only know what I hear."

"But it would be possible to tell, from the position of the enemy, something of their intentions. I could directly if I saw them."

"Then why you not go and look for yourself?" asked Joe, carelessly; but there was a glitter in his eyes which gave a deep meaning to the simple question.

"Why not?" said McKay, whom the look had escaped. "It is well worth the risk."

"I'll help you, if you like," went on Joe, with the same outwardly unconcerned manner.

"Can you? How?"

"Very easy to pa.s.s lines. You put on Tartar clothes same as that old man go to you to-day. He live near Tchorgaun; he take you right into middle of Russian camp."

"When can he start?" asked McKay eagerly, accepting without hesitation all the risks of this perilous undertaking.

"To-night, if you choose. Come down here by-and-by; I have everything ready."

McKay agreed, and returned to headquarters in all haste, where he sought out his chief and confided to him his intentions.

"You are really prepared to penetrate the enemy's lines? It will be a daring, dangerous job, McKay. I should be wrong to encourage you."

"It is of vital importance, you say, that we should really know what the enemy is doing beyond the Tchernaya. I am quite ready to go, sir."

"Lord Raglan--all of us--indeed, will be greatly indebted to you if you can find out. But I do not like this idea of the disguise, McKay.

You ought not to go under false colours."

"I should probably learn more."

"Yes; but do you know what your fate would be if you were discovered?"

"I suppose I should be hanged, sir," said McKay, simply.

"Hanged or shot. Spies--everyone out of uniform is a spy--get a very short shrift at an enemy's hand. No; you must stick to your legitimate dress. I am sure Lord Raglan would allow you to go under no other conditions."

"As you wish, sir. Only I fear I should not be so useful as if I were disguised."

"It is my order," said the general, briefly; and after that there was nothing more to be said.

McKay spent the rest of the afternoon at his usual duties, and towards evening, having carefully reloaded his revolver, and filled his pockets with Russian rouble notes, which he obtained on purpose from the military chest, he mounted a tough little Tartar pony, used generally by his servant, and trotted down to the hut-town.

Valetta Joe heard with marked disapprobation McKay's intention of carrying out his enterprise without a.s.suming disguise.

"You better stay at home: not go very far like that."

"Lend me a _greggo_ to throw over my coat, and a sheepskin cap, and I shall easily pa.s.s the Cossack sentries. Where is my guide?"

"Seelim--Jee!" shouted Joe, and the old gentleman who had visited McKay that morning came ambling up from the cellar below.

"Is that old idiot to go with me? Why, he speaks no known tongue!"

cried McKay.

"Only Tartar. You know no Tartar? Well, he understand the stick. Show it him--so," and Joe made a motion of striking the old man, who bent submissively to receive the blow.

"Does he know where he is to take me? What we are going to do?"

"All right. You trust him: he take you past Cossacks." Joe muttered a few unintelligible instructions to the guide, who received them with deep respect, making a low bow, first to Joe and then to McKay.

"I give him _greggo_ and cap: you put them on when you like."

McKay knew that he could only pa.s.s the British sentries openly, showing his uniform as a staff officer, so he made the guide carry the clothes, and the two pressed forward together through Kadikoi, towards the formidable line of works that now covered Balaclava.

He skirted the flank of one of the redoubts, and, pa.s.sing beyond the intrenchments, came at length to our most advanced posts, a line of cavalry vedettes, stationed at a considerable distance apart.

"I am one of the headquarter staff," he said, briefly, to the sergeant commanding the picket, "and have to make a short reconnaissance towards Kamara. You understand?"

"Are we to support you, sir?"

"No; but look out for my coming back. It may not be till daybreak, but it will be as well, perhaps, to tell your men who I am, and to expect me. I don't want to be shot on re-entering our own lines."

"Never fear, sir, so long as we know. I will tell the officer, and make it all right."