"Hurry up—you're badly wanted at the Front," was the message that greeted the Fore and Aft, and the occupants of the Red Cross carriages told the same tale.
" 'Tisn't so much the bloomin' fighting," gasped a head-bound trooper of Hussars to a knot of admiring Fore and Afts. "'Tisn't so much the bloomin' fightin', though there's enough o' that. It's the bloomin' food an' the bloomin' climate. Frost all night 'cept when it hails, and biling sun all day, and the water stinks fit to knock you down. I got my 'ead chipped like a egg; I've got pneumonia too, 'an my guts is all out o' order. 'Taint no bloomin' picnic in those parts I can tell you."
"What are the niggers like?" demanded a private.
"There's some prisoners in that train yonder. Go an' look at 'em. They're the aristocracy o' the country. The common folk are a dashed sight uglier. If you want to know what they fight with, reach under my seat an' pull out the long knife that's there."
They dragged out and beheld for the first time the grim, bone-handled, triangular Afghan knife. It was almost as long as Lew.
"That's the thing to jint ye," said the trooper feebly. "It can take off a man's arm at the shoulder as easy as slicing butter. I halved the beggar that used that 'un, but there's more of his likes up above. They don't understand thrustin', but they're devils to slice."
The men strolled along the tracks to inspect the Afghan prisoners. They were unlike any "niggers" that the Fore and Aft had ever me—these huge, black-haired, scowling sons of the Beni-Israel. As the men stared the Afghans spat freely and muttered one to another with lowered eyes.
"My eyes! Wot awful swine!" said Jakin, who was in the rear of the procession. "Say, old man, how you got caught, eh? Why you wasn't hanged for your ugly face, hey?"
The tallest of the company turned, his leg-irons clanking, and stared at the boy. "See!" he cried to
