Thus far Cator, the attorney's clerk, had proved himself the most sagacious and quick-witted of our party; though Captain Strogue would have been amazed and indignant to hear me say so. And now, when we had rejoined the rest of our little expedition, and all were recruiting the inner man (or the middle man perhaps he is, body being first, stomach second, and mind—when found, third portion), that sprig of the law came up, with a bone between his teeth, and begged the Captain and myself, who were feeding from the outside tops of our hats, to go a little further round the elbow of a crag. There he asked us what opinions we had formed; and when we had taken our seats, we said: "None at all; except that we are all bamboozled."

"No doubt about that. But how, and why?" He answered with a mysterious look, which we were inclined to smile at, not having known him long enough to be sure of his prophetic gifts. "A lot of things have occurred to me, which may be very absurd of course, and it is not likely that all are right; but I am pretty sure that some are. Shall I tell you, and hear what you think of them?" We lit our pipes, and nodded to him, and smiled at one another.

"To begin with, then, I suspect most strongly that her Majesty, the Devil's wife, for so she deserves at least to be, has got her brother under lock and key somewhere, snug enough, and at her mercy, if she owns such a quality. Did you see what she touched, when she went to gag, and at the same time to cram, that poor young fellow, whose will she has crushed out of him by years and years of bullying? Perhaps you could not see where you stood; and she did not think that I could. But I saw the tips of her long fingers playing with a key which was in her belt—a mere household key of course—but enough to remind her unlucky son where his poor Uncle was, without much chance of ever coming forth, but in his coffin. And I caught a glance of his which proved that he understood her meaning, and might soon have the same thing for himself. And then you saw how he broke down; for he is a very tender-hearted youth."

"By Jove, it sounds uncommonly like it; I was so taken aback," said Strogue, "at seeing another Prince Hafer in the field, and so different from my Simon Pure, that I could not notice small things much; and perhaps it was the same with Cranleigh. There is some abominable villany at work, and we shall be too late to stop it. I would like to insure friend Imar's life for ten thousand at five thousand premium. Go on, my son, thou speakest well."

"Another thing, according to my lights. He is not in that queer old place at all, Gomorrah Castle, or whatever they call it, although there are plenty of black holes there, enough to starve a regiment man by man. No, he is away to the North at present, perhaps on the other side of the mountains. You saw the big window that faced the North, more like a door than a window it was. Well, every time her brother was in question, and especially when she was fingering that key, she gave a quick glance through that window, very likely without even knowing it. People who gesticulate much often follow it up in that way. When they speak of a distant thing, they glance in that direction, if they can see it, or anything anywhere near it; and there was a great double-peaked mountain covered with snow, like a white mitre, stuck against the sky in the North. And if her brother had been in the castle dungeons, she would have made us go down the front ladder again, instead of getting a wink of back premises."

"Upon my word, this boy is wide-awake, considering how little he has seen yet of the world. Cator, like Cato, thou reasonest well. Go ahead, my son, we hearken thee."

"You see, Captain," said the young man, feeling abashed in the presence of such renown, and doubtful about some chaff in its palm; "you see, I should never care to offer you advice. It might be in place with Mr. Cranleigh here, because he is only a young beginner. But you know what's what, I should say, ever so much better than I do. But as you tell me to go on, I will. Her Serene Highness intends to make away with her twin-brother, on Monday next."

"Come now, come now! I can stand a great deal, Cator. And none of your butter-Scotch—no, you are a Shropshire man, you say. Whatever you are, it won't make that go down. Why, Old Moore, and Zadkiel would be nothing to you."

"Captain, I will tell you what I go by, and then you'll be able to judge for yourself, whether I talk bunkum, or good sense. I have been in these parts for a twelvemonth now, and I ought to know something of these blessed natives. There are no two lots of them quite alike, any more than two mountains or two valleys are. But there is not a pin to choose among them in the matter of laziness. Poor beggars, they can scarcely help that, I dare say, frozen as they are for half the year, and roasted for the other half. Well, about here the manner is to keep three holidays, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, just as if they did anything on the other four days. These Ossets about here have no religion of any sort worth speaking of. Some call themselves Christians, some Mahometans, many are simple idolaters; but all are full of superstition, as such people must be. All they do in the religious way, is to stick to their fasts and festivals, particularly the festivals. And their great festival of the year finishes up next Sunday."

"What the deuce has that got to do with it?" Strogue enquired impatiently, for the sun was beginning to slope along the valley, and we had ten miles to go to the next covered place.

"Everything, if you will hear me out. That festival goes on for three weeks; and during that time it is not lawful to follow up even the blood-feud. But on Monday, it will be the proper thing to stick and stab all who are waiting for it. And what makes me think that this little game is on, according to institution, is that we have not seen a living soul, except an old woman and a child or two, in the miserable villages we have come by. Why? For the very simple reason that every noble savage who can swing a dagger is off for this great act of faith on Monday; to see the death of the head of the clan avenged."

"I won't believe a word of it," I exclaimed, meaning no rudeness of course to Cator, but scouting the possibility of such fiendish abominations, after all I had heard of the great man's lofty hopes and pure ideals.

"To me it seems likely enough," said Strogue. "I have been among fellows who would eat their mothers, and serve up their own babies for a garnish. We have none of that sort to deal with here; and the men of these mountains, taking them all round, are an indolent rather than a cruel lot. Quarrelsome of course, and hot of blood, but most loyal to their chiefs, and very generous sometimes. It is the blood-feud that makes devils of them; but how can they help that? It is their test of honour, ever since they came out of the Ark with the raven. What we have got to do is to act exactly as if all our friend Cator suggests were the fact. Thursday to-day; there is little time to lose, even if we can catch it up at all. We shall want every son of an emerald of you; and you must fight like sons of the Emerald Isle. By Jove, what a ripping turn-up it will be! Right about face, quick march for Kazbek!"

It was all very well for him, and Cator, and the rest to take things lightly thus. They could not be expected to feel much concern for the Lesghian Chief, or a Lesghian lady even more adorable. And as for Strogue his main object was less to rescue SÛr Imar, than to wreak his own vengeance upon Hafer—that is to say the London Hafer, the one who had leaped the ivied wall, and shot at me, and robbed the Captain, by some blackleg's process, of £300.

But I (with my warm affection and deep pity for the father, and passionate love of the daughter) could see no adventurous joy or fierce delight in the issue impending. I wanted no revenge, no compensation for anything done against me. Hafer the genuine, and Hafer the counterfeit, might settle their claims to the title as they pleased; even that most malignant and awful woman—if she were as black as she was painted—the Princess Marva might live her life out, and give the best account of it when her time came; if only she could be kept from harming her relatives so innocent. There must be in her motives something more than we could see. Revenge alone for the loss of a husband, with whom she had lived on the worst of terms, and who had wronged her on the tenderest point—that, and the time-worn grievance about the refusal of her marriage-portion were not enough to drive her to such a horrible and unnatural deed as—unless we wronged her most shamefully—she was now in cold blood designing. There must be some other strong motive too, some great temptation of self-interest, some of that stern, sour stuff which drives us out of the hive that should be sweet to us.

No man knows what he does or thinks (unless he can keep himself separate from the thoughts of all around him, which requires a wonderful nature) when his legs go along with the legs of other men, and he has to swing his arms accordingly. There was no sort of march among us; for we had never been even of the Volunteer Force (except myself, and that only made me critical, without any help in it), and if we had wanted to show the Caucasus any sense of drill, we could never have done it, even if we had known how. By order of the rocky way, or of rocks without any way among them, we could never march two abreast, or even three in file with decency. All we could do was to get along, and admire one another's clumsiness.

Then we came to a place with a sudden gap in front, and nothing but the sky beyond it. A cleft in the crown of a rugged ascent, with spires of black rocks right and left. And there on the saddle-ridge that we must pass, a gaunt and wondrous figure arose, whether of man or of beast, and wavered against the grey mist of the distance, and swayed. Two long arms, like a gallows out of gear, or a cross that has rotted with its weight, struck up; and having been severely tried already we were much at a loss what to make of it. There was good light still, and we were not to be frightened, as we must have been after sunset; but the Interpreter being always nervous turned round, and exclaimed: "She has sent the Devil, the Devil himself, to stop us." While he spoke the long figure fell down on its knees, and swung its lank arms, like a windmill.

"Hold hard! Don't fire!" Strogue shouted sternly, as some of our men had brought their guns to bear. "Idiots, it is nothing but a poor lost man, a fellow without a bit of food inside him. George, let us go and see what he is up to."

I was ready to go anywhere and do anything in my present state of mind; and when we came up to him, our poor brother mortal fell upon his face, and put his hands upon our feet. He muttered some words which we could not understand, and then he opened his mouth, which was very large, and pointed down it intelligibly to the slowest comprehension.

"He may be the Devil, but he wants some grub," Strogue shouted back to our company, who were still looking towards us doubtfully, for people become superstitious, without intending it, in these wild places. Then Cator came up, with a barley-cake in one hand and his rifle in the other. The unfortunate starver took no heed of the weapon in his extremity, but stretched his shrivelled arm across the muzzle, and tore the cake from Cator. In a moment it was gone, almost without a munch; and then he stared at us, with sun-scorched eyes projecting from their peel like a boiled potato,—and groaned for more, crooking his fingers like prongs of a rake. We shrank from him so that he might not touch us. But for the blood he was covered with we should have taken him for a skeleton; and but for his groans and nakedness we should have passed him as a scarecrow.

"Don't be in such a hurry, old chap, or you'll do yourself more harm than good," Strogue suggested reasonably. But even if the other had understood, it would have made no difference. He spread his face out in such a manner that there was nothing left but mouth; as a young cuckoo in a sparrow's nest, when his stepmother cannot satisfy him, squattles his empty body down, and distends himself into one enormous gape. Then Tommy Williams came up laughing, with his hat full of broken victuals; and the Captain, who understood the subject, said: "Not too fast, or he'll fall to pieces. And pour down a little whiskey to soften it."

When the poor fellow came round a little—and flat enough he had been before—to our surprise he proved himself an exceedingly brave and well-intentioned man. In fact, if he had been otherwise we should never have found him there. A barbarian he appeared at first, but that was appearance only, and under the stress of misfortune, although he belonged to a race which is the most barbarous of the Caucasus. When through our nervous interpreter we began to understand him, we soon perceived that it was our good luck as well as his own, which had brought him to us. And much as at first we grudged the time expended in this humanity, we soon came to see that it had been well spent, even for our own purposes. After such a fast, and then such feasting (prolonged in even more than due redress), it would have been most unfair to expect many words from him prematurely. We clothed him a little, for he was stark naked,—and so hairy a person I never beheld,—and then we cut the tight cord knotted round his waist, from which even famine had not freed him; and then we made a litter—for he could not walk—and carried him to our night-quarters. Luckily there was no foe in search of us, or that miserable sufferer's groans and snores must have told our whereabout to every echo. He surprised us again by an eager call for supper, but none would we give him, until he had splashed for a quarter of an hour in the glacier stream. Then we fed him again, and clothed him fairly, and a decent and reputable man he looked, though going down the vale of years. And his tale was interpreted as follows.