hills, followed by the exultant, triumphant British. Through the range, till they streamed out onto the plain of the Nahrin.
The open country before him, dimly seen as a blue-gray shadow, vague, unreal under the stars, the British commander gave an order, and a bugle shrilled the recall.
When the sun came up behind the towering, snow-clad Pusht-I-Koh, the mighty Persian Hills, and the day flamed suddenly into the Abu Hajr, the Thirteenth moved up, company by company, to occupy the coveted pass. The search party was already afoot before dawn; but it was not till day made clear the configuration of the pass that Corporal Twing was found.
He was lying at the foot of the steep, tortuous path leading up to the ledge where he had made his bargain. Creeping down, the unconscious Carson on his back, he was caught in the jam, knocked off his feet, trod upon alike by Gurkha, Scot and Turk. Throwing himself on his prostrate mate, he saved him from the tramplings of the iron-shod press. When the pressure lessened he was able to struggle back a few feet, dragging Carson with him. Once clear of the mêlée, his exhausted body could do no more. He drifted into unconsciousness, kicked, bruised, terribly punished. He was restored to consciousness by the ministrations of a sergeant of the R.A.M.C.
