others was no inducement. However, we continued our efforts, until they ended in a little show which it interests me to recall because I really took an active part this time.

I omit the finesses and dodges of the spies. We steadily twisted their tails, till at last my pet spy, who had been promised a grant of land in case of success, came in one morning and said in the usual defiant take-it-or-leave-it tone that the rest of the gang were in the Makhi Dhand, and he would lead us to them. I had been sending a man with a drum round to all the villages proclaiming the return of Lowell. I believe that news, which was false, played no small part in helping the outlaws to make up their minds to show themselves.

The Deputy Collector refused to go out he had urgent business elsewhere. I had the Bugti levy as well as the Baluchi detachment, and plenty of police. We started off with the spy, taking with us also some local police who knew the dhand very well. The place described by the spy was five miles off Sanghar, and in the heart of the dhand.

revolver, pressed it into the small of the spy's back, and swore I would blow a hole in him if there were any treachery. After this we followed as straight a line as any one could wish to travel, until we came to the Jalab embankment, which ran for miles across our path at right angles and kept the waters of the dhand from flooding Sanghar. We climbed up on this bund, which was ten or fifteen feet high, like a railway embankment, at a place where the jungles grew close to it, so as to screen our movements. For any person to stand in the open on it in a flat country would be to offer himself as a target to the nearest sharpshooter.

Inside this bund the water covered the ground in every direction as far as we could see through the trees and bushes, and close to the bund itself was a stream some forty feet wide, across which we found at once that we should have to swim. Maya Sing, my orderly, said contemptuously, "Here the Bugtis will have to be left behind. None of them can swim-all the world knows that they do not like water to touch their bodies." This was an allusion to their somewhat unclean habits. On inquiry I found that not one of them could swim a yard, so then and there I refused to take them any farther lest they be drowned. Once more they had proved their uselessness. I extended them along

miles, with orders to shoot any one that they saw, cut off his head, and bring it to me. An order couched in less plain terms they would have failed to understand.

The rest of us then swam the stream without loss of man or rifle, and, spreading out in open order, Maya Sing next to me, we began our long wade through two miles of swamp. The water was usually about two feet deep, and progress was as slow and noisy as only those who have tried this method of locomotion know. It was July, which in Sind is very hot. The air was full of moisture exhaled from the swamp, and the perspiration ran off us in streams. After an hour and a half we saw smoke rising ahead from amongst the trees on a small island, where evidently was the outlaws' camp. There was an open space of one hundred and fifty yards between us and the island, the front of which was protected by ten large tamarisk trees. On the right and left were smaller islands with babhul groves jutting forward like wings to meet the jungle through which we were moving. Beyond the islands and the groves we learnt that the waters were too deep for the outlaws' retreat. We therefore had them in a trap, to which indeed they had come of their own accord, knowing the consequences, for their last adventure.

All this time it must be remembered that we were mak

ing our way with difficulty through water and mud, slipping on the slimy bottom, tripping over roots and creepers, forcing a passage through thorn bushes, disturbing crocodiles and water-birds, falling into holes, and being hauled out by our neighbours in the line. The fighting was supposed to be done by the trained soldiers, so I left most of the police as a rear-guard under an inspector, spread out as widely as possible to cut off all escape of any outlaw. I myself, with a few orderlies and sowars, pushed on in the centre. Suddenly a brisk fire was opened on us from the main island, and as we were unprotected I shouted out to the men to kneel down in the water, too late for poor Maya Sing, who fell dead within arm's-length of me with a bullet through his neck. "Allah's curse on the budmashes!" swore my havildar, who was fond of the lad and had been a comrade of his father; "the same fate for son as for father." He placed the body in the shelter of a tree.

Warned by this casualty we divided our forces. I remained in the centre, where we presented as small a mark as possible by crouching in the water. The Baluchi havildar, Nihala, took a party of Sikhs to attack through the trees on the right, while the Subedar Mahomed Bax, with a detachment of Punjabi Mahomedans, moved off to take advantage of cover on the left.

The

We

latter caught sight of an outlaw on the island in white clothes named Misri, and he was instantly riddled with bullets. The Sikhs directed a cross-fire from their side on the island, and made the outlaws' position very hot indeed. They shot down another outlaw, Usman, after a few slight casualties, and then a lull came. closed in slowly and cautiously. Suddenly a budmash named Bhalu ran out of the trees on the island, threw down his gun-his ammunition being exhausted, entered the water, and made straight for me, flourishing a big sword and cursing horribly. He was about forty yards off when I saw him. I shouted to him to keep off, but he took no notice. One or two shots rang out, but failed to stop him : most of my men could not fire for fear of hitting me. I was carrying a twelve-bore shot-gun, but fortunately remembered that the cartridges must be soaked, so I drew my revolver. I shot once without visible effect. My feet were stuck in the mud, but this outlaw seemed to move fast enough. I let him get close, and then gave him one in the body. He leaped up and fell forward. Then came the police havildar, grinning. "Where is the pig?" he asked, and finding him in the water, turned him over with his foot. Then he suddenly pointed his gun and blew in the man's chest. "Why did you do that, fool" I exclaimed.

"This pig attacked the Sahib," was the reply. "What else should he deserve? Besides, there is Maya to avenge." On the island we found one man still moving, and before I could interfere a sowar bashed him on the head with a rifle. "Stop that, you cruel brute ! " I shouted, but the outlaw was dead. The sowar drew back muttering. Police hatred was bitter. They had much to remember.

The outlaws had drilled holes in the tree-trunks so as to stand under cover and fire while

resting their rifles. Luckily for us they did not understand or make the best use of their weapons. Five of our men were wounded with small shot from Usman's fowling-piece. If he had used slugs he might have done much damage. The others had ignorantly raised the sights of their rifles to a thousand yards, so most of their bullets flew over our heads and were heard striking trees and water by the rear-guard far behind.

This was the end of the gang. Since those days efforts have been made to wean the Hurs from their addiction to crimes of violence, but without much success. They are of less importance just now, as their Pir is a minor and their numbers have dwindled. But cases are still apt to occur, in which the Sind police move cautiously if they are likely to come up against the Hur brotherhood.

I MUST say I was very much surprised when Private Mitten was "run in " before me at Company Orders on a charge of "Gambling in Barracks."

a quiet inoffensive fellow, employed as Mess Gardener; and if he did not exactly succeed in "making the desert blossom like a rose,' at any rate he watered the clumps of Cannas and gaudy Zinnias with praiseworthy regularity, nor lost heart when a frequent dust-storm smothered every green thing with sand.

The idea of him rollicking with dice or spotting the elusive "Lady" seemed absurd, but there was no getting away from facts.

He had been caught redhanded behind the Ration Store, surrounded by an enthralled crowd, raising roars of laughter and relieving his pals of their spare cash by the aid of a green cloth, a Gold Flake cigarette tin, and a beetle.

His face did not betray the slightest concern when he received a sentence of seven days C.B. and to forfeit the game; but before he marched out of the office he cast a regretful glance at the cigarette tin, which stood beside a folded green cloth on my office table. In the course of the evidence the sergeant had roughly outlined the rudiments of the game, which, it appears, Private Mitten had invented himself in the solitudes of the mess garden,

and I was all curiosity to investigate it further, for it sounded both original and amusing.

The office being empty at the moment, I spread out on the table the green cloth, which was about a yard square divided by black lines into ten unequal sections, with a circle in the centre.

These were numbered in red ink, and the circle was the exact circumference of a Gold Flake cigarette tin.

I opened the tin next, and inside was a very hard, shiny, iridescent, green beetle busily engaged in eating a leaf. I gently decanted him on to the circle in the centre of the cloth, which as far as I knew was the next move in the game, at the same time, from sheer force of habit, mentally backing the section marked 8.

The beetle knew exactly what to do: he ran three times round the circle, then shot off into number eight. Not so bad, 8 to 1 for a first bet. Deeply interested I repeated the process several times, and each time the beetle ran into a different section.

After six throws I was all square. It was a most delightful game! The simplicity of the thing was its greatest charm.

It was so easy no cards to shuffle, or wheel to spin, or dice to rattle.

I was just capturing the beetle for another shot when

I became aware the SergeantMajor was standing behind me breathing hard.

"I'm six piastres up, sir, in the last four throws," he said in an excited voice.

It was clearly impossible for me to engage in a game of chance with my C.S.M. at 10.30 in the morning (besides which he might expect me to pay up, which I was loth to do), so I was obliged to put the whole thing away and attend to an unexplained deficiency in " Bowls, washing, zinc." However, I determined to explore the game further at the first opportunity, and thought of several little additions to add to the excitement, such as making the beetle negotiate a few jumps, or have fleas instead of a beetle-possibly other players might object.

I wished it were possible to have a few moments' chat with Private Mitten on some points which were not quite clear. The fact of the matter was, the idea was a novelty, and just then novel ideas were as rare as accelerated promotion. We were enduring a Khartoum hot weather, baked by sun, scorched by hot winds, and smothered by Huboobs " day after day, and every one was stale and tired, with nerves taut as fiddle strings. The battalion was homeward bound after a long foreign tour; and as it is always the last lap in the race that seems longest, so the last hot weather seems hotter and beastlier than any other.

I carried the game back to my quarters at lunch-time, and

showed it, under a Vow of secrecy, to Fruity, a mad Irishman with an unquenchable appetite for rags. He was enchanted, and suggested a little party in my room that evening, to which I agreed. It was unfortunate, but just at that moment the bugle rang out "Defaulters," and I recognised Private Mitten doubling across the Barrack Square, where the heat shimmered relentlessly, to answer his name at the Guard-room.

Fruity left the room, and returned a few minutes later with an armful of assorted greenery.

"What on earth are you going to do with all that stuff

decorate the room?”

"No," he replied. "Feed the beetle. How can we expect the blighter to nip about if he isn't fed?"

The news quickly trickled through the Mess, though I was careful to keep the origin and details of the game a close secret. Wild rumours spread about of some mysterious game played with scorpions, and a cheery evening was anticipated.

But we'd reckoned without the General and his staff, who were expected to dine with us that night prior to their departure the following day. Clearly it would be impossible to indulge in the Beetle Game