Mountain Home Republican. [volume] (Mountain Home, Idaho) 1915-1946, 1918-02-09

Look out for traps. Smash 'em on
sight. But don't follow up too far |"
"Sure," said Charles.
"Help me with the stain now, will
your"
With his f1ashlight burning as If its
battery provided current by the week
instead Of by the minute, Athelstan
dragged open the mules pack and pro-
duced q host of things. He propped
mirror against the pack and squatted
in front OF it. Then he passed a lit
tie bottle to his brother, and Charles
attended to the chin-strap mark that
would have betrayed him British Of
ficer In any light brighter than dusk.
In few minutes his whole face was
darkened to one hue, and Charles
stepped back to look at it.
"Won't need to wash yourself for a
month";" he said. "The dirt won't
show!" He shifted at the bottle. But
that stain won't come off il you do
wash--never worryi You'll do finely"
"Not yet, l won't~ said Athelstan,
picking up little safety razor and be-
ginning on his mustache. In a min
ute he had his upper lip bare. Then
his brother bent over him and rubbed
in stain where the scrubby mustache
had been.
After that Athelstan unlocked the
leather bag that had caused Ismail so
much concern and shook out from 1t a
pile of odds and ends at which his
brother nodded with perfect under
standing. The principal item was a
piece of silk-forty or fifty yards of
it-that he proceeded to bind into a
turban on his head, his brother lending
him guiding understanding finger at
every turn. When that was done, the
man who had said he looked In the
least like British officer would have
lied.
One after another he drew on native
garments, picking them from the pile
beside him. So, by rapid stages he de-
veloped into a native hakim-by creed
a converted Hindu, like Rewa Gunga
one of the men who practice yunani
or modern medicine, without license
and with very great deal of added
superstition, trickery and guesswork.
81 wouldn't trust you with a happen
ny" announced his brother when he
had done. "The part to T."
"Well-take these into the fort for
me, will your" His brother caught the
bundle of discarded European clothes
and tucked them under his arm. Nov
remember, old man! We've got to hold
the Khyber, and we can't do it by rid
ing pell-mell into the first trap set fol
US! Be a coward, if that's the name
you care to give it. You needn't tel
me you've got orders to hunt skirmish
ers to a standstill, because l know bet
ter"
Show d'you know better?"
"Never mind I've been seconded tc
your crowd. I'm your senior, and I'm
giving you orders. Hit hard when you
have to, but for Gods sake, old man
ware traps"
"All right" said his brother.
"Ihen good-by, old mani"
"Good-by, AthelstanW
They stood facing and shook hands
Where had been man and his retiec
ton In the mist, there now seemed to
be the same man and native. Athel'
stan King had changed his very na'
ture with his clothes. He stood like a
native-moved like one; even his voice
was changed, as if-like the actor who
dyed himself all over to act Othello-
he could do nothing by halves.
"'By, Charles"
officers in that force are not chosen
for their clumsiness, or inability to
move silently by night. His footsteps
died in the mist almost as quickly as
his shadow. Before he had been gone
a minute the pass was silent as death
again, and though Athelstan listened
with trained ears, the only sound he
could detect was Of jackal cracking
a bone fifty or sixty yards away.