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There's a convict more in the Central Jail, Behind the old mud wall; There's a lifter less on the Border trail, And the Queen's Peace over all, Dear boys, The Queen's Peace over all.

For we must bear our leader's blame, On us the shame will fall, If we lift our hand from a fettered land And the Queen's Peace over all, Dear boys, The Queen's Peace over all. The Running of Shindand.

Indus had risen in flood without warning. Last night it was a fordable shallow; to-night five miles of raving muddy water parted bank and caving bank, and the river was still rising under the moon. A litter borne by six bearded men, all unused to the work, stopped in the white sand that bordered the whiter plain.

'It's God's will,' they said. 'We dare not cross tonight, even in a boat. Let us light a fire and cook food. We be tired men.'

They looked at the litter inquiringly. Within, the Deputy Commissioner of the Kot-Kumharsen district lay dying of fever. They had brought him across country, six fighting-men of a frontier clan that he had