The Mahsud, being no fool, knows that it is far better to fight a retiring enemy than one advancing, since in the former case he will pick up the casualties instead of us. Wherefore the covering troops generally get their ground for a few shots. But once they have settled in and work on the picquet has started, the Mahsud watching from the higher hills around, starts in to make his dispositions with the eye of a born tactician. He studies the probable lines of withdrawal, and while his "shook troops" proceed by devious routes to mass out of view against some weak or ill-guarded spot which he will rush, if and when opportunity offers, either to break up the day's programme or to harass the retirement, the rest of his forces disperse in a cloud of marksmen to snipe methodically all over the line, and throw in a minor attack or two if chance offers.

Normally the wretched covering troops are the people who have to suffer all day, but sometimes in really bad country the picquet can be sniped as well, despite the covering troops, and then the Mahsud's oup of joy is indeed full.

So to-day the "do soh wunjahs" lay out in the sun for the nth time, listened to the unseen enemy's bullets whimpering past as he unceasingly tormented them, made themselves small behind rooks, and prayed for three o'olook when they could at least get up and run home instead of lying out in the open as targets for the Mahsud with nothing whatever to do unless he chose to attack.

At intervals the guns from below would pitch a shell or two over them on to the higher slopes beyond, and once a circling 'plane drifted over dropping bombs. This was always welcome, because the moment a 'plane came over you could sit up and stretch your arms and legs, secure in the knowledge that Brer Mahsud would be spread-eagled down motionless, with his nose well into the dust, until such time as the 'plane had passed. The tribesmen long ago learnt to take cover at the sight of 'planes, their indescribably grimy garments harmonising well with the landscape; and nowadays on an ordinary stony hillside it's like putting a hawk over partridgethey just cower, although in bush they can still sit up and shoot.

Miles reflected as the passing Bristol gave him an opportunity to stand up in comfort and look around, that if there were only enough machines you could sit up all the time, and better still, suffer few, if any, casualties.

His attention for the present, however, was mainly ooncentrated on the best method of withdrawing his men at the witching hour of 3 P.M., in modern military parlance, "fifteen hours."

or

There would most certainly be trouble; the enemy had been more than usually attentive to-day, even to the extent of rushing that bad place on the right, where a thicklybushed nullah gave them an easy way up, a bit of ground, moreover, quite out of reach

of the guns, owing to the steep angle of the slope.

That must, he had settled, be the last bit to be withdrawn, because otherwise it would enfilade the whole of the rest of his line as they came back. On the other hand, since the enemy could get to within fifty yards, practically out of sight, the moment the troops there did fall back they would be properly "hotted." Yes, it would most certainly be lively.

He had sent the adjutant over to see how things were going now, and to explain once more the exact scheme of withdrawal to the Company Commander. He looked at his watch-"2.15." Another threequarters of an hour to go. Turning round, he called up the reserve company commander, and went through his dispositions again.

"When I give you the signal, fall back across the dip and take up your position along the ridge. They'll probably come on like stink to-day, so tell your men to keep their eyes well skinned and shoot quiok and straight.

"Let every one know that A and B go straight through you to the line of rocks above the nullah, and you'll be called back from there. Above all, watch your right, and keep touch with D Company."

He inserted a "soissors" cigarette into his much-chewed holder, and lit it, then took his glasses.

"Look at the dirty blighters on that hill there! Fids of 'em! Here, signaller! Message pad!"

He scribbled a message and

The adjutant came back up the slope.

"Browne's ready, sir. They're still collecting there. He says you can hear them below in the bushes; but you can't see a d-d thing, and any one who pokes his head up overlong gets it. He's had twelve casualties in the last hour." "Got 'em all away?" queried Miles.

"All the wounded have started down. If the stretchers get back in time and aren't wanted for more wounded, he'll try to get the dead away too; but I doubt his doing it. It's a real bad place."

The crash of bursting bombs broke into the conversation, and all three looked to the right again.

"He's bombing now. They must be getting pretty close. Look at the smoke."

Several more bombs exploded, and a steady rattle of rifle and Lewis gun fire broke out and then died away again.

Major Miles stared long through his glasses, and then put them down again. No low bullets had come over

from that side anyway, which meant that the enemy was being kept well below the orest-line. Also he could see Browne walking about in rear of the firing line, presumably just under cover; and once he caught a glimpse of Williams, Browne's company officer, conspicuously pink and white among the bearded Sikhs.

He looked at his watch again-2.40.

"Get all the mules down, Little," he said to the adjutant. "The Mahsud path in the nullah, you know, and then straight back to camp. We'll have to carry the guns, of course."

Little went down into the hollow and started the firstline mules away, and they disappeared down the winding track to the river-bed.

A signal message came up from Brigade H.Q. to tell the "do soh wunjahs" to retire at "fifteen hours." Then another from the picquet itself to say that they were ready. Miles orumpled the message into his haversack and rose to his feet.

sandbags lay around inside, which the picquet themselves could build later.

The inner belt of wire was finished and the stakes of the outer one, and a few strands of wire in position.

It was by no means the finished article, but it was a picquet that determined men could hold, and if not worried too much could improve considerably by nightfall. In any case there was all round cover from fire provided you kept low, and there was one good belt of wire.

"I'll leave all the wire here inside the inner belt, and when you get a peaceful hour during the next day or two you can get on with the outer one yourself."

"Right-oh," said the subaltern, and shouted to his men to stop work and get in all the stores as quickly as they could. The pioneers broke off and filed away down to the mules to pack up their tools and stores.

The infantry came straggling up the slope with boxes of ammunition, of hand and rifle grenades, sacks of rations and tins of ghi, which they dumped into the picquet. Then off again down the slope for a second and yet a third trip to bring up their blankets and greatcoats, cooking pots and firewood.

The Lewis gun team established itself in an emplacement looking towards that dangerspot on the right, two rifle bombers settled near them, while some signallers fixed up a telephone on to the wire they had laid previously and brought in their helio and lamp.

The water party emptied the last pakhals of water into the canvas tanks they had placed in the picquet, and departed for home with their string of mules in the wake of the pioneers, who were starting down the long sloping ridge back towards the river, dead ground to the enemy at present.

As the last loads were thrown into the picquet, the subaltern signalled to the O.C. covering troops in front that the picquet was ready. A few minutes later he saw their reserve company move down towards him and deploy into line on one of the nearer ridges. He put as many men as he could fit along the north and east faces of the picquet, and set every one else to pile up rough head cover of sandbags as quickly as they could on the unfinished walls. There was a good deal of noise on the right. Evidently the enemy were getting impatient.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed the walls on the rear faces were mostly topped now with piled sandbags built into rough notches.

Suddenly the foremost line of covering troops in front started to run back, and from away below he heard the guns, and the bursting shell leaped inte life in front. The covering troops were withdrawing all right now. On they came, passed through the reserve company at a steady double and took up a position on the edge of the nullah in front of him, while the reserve company broke into a rattle of rifle fire. The fire to the right

redoubled, and the dull reverberations of bombs broke on the air, accompaniment to the "phutt-phutt" of the whitewreathed shrapnel ahead.

Four laden stretchers passed him looking downwards. Then the reserve company, now become the foremost line, started coming away in bunches of swift-moving men, and just as these reached the nullah the remainder came away, running fast now. Once a man dropped. The men nearest halted, flung themselves round and opened fire, and two seized the prostrate figure, heaved it up and stumbled onwards again, the bullets spattering the rocks around them and the dragging figure with the hanging head. But they stumbled into cover where A and B Companies had spread out, and the rest of the group came after them spread out, and running fast, heads down, as men run in heavy rain or hail.

Major Miles came up with his runners and signallers near the picquet and called up the people on the right, whence two more stretchers were coming away followed by a couple of walking wounded.

The fire from in front was growing heavier, and bullets splashed continually against the picquet wall. A runner dashed up to the major with a message. Reading it, he turned to the adjutant.

"Tell A Company they'll have to hang on & bit. Browne's got some more casualties to get away and no more stretchers. Send him up all you can find.”