Derrick broke into an involuntary laugh.

“Did Carlyon get you to come and tell me so?” He turned and peered through the darkness at the man beside him.  “You never got up here alone?” he said incredulously.

“Oh, yes.  It wasn’t difficult.  I was guided by the noise you made.  How many men have you?”

“Ten or twelve; not more—­all Goorkhas.”

“Good!  We must quit this place at once.  It will be a death-trap when the moon rises.  There are some boulders higher up, away to the right.  We can occupy them till morning and fight back to back if they try to rush us.  There ought to be plenty of shelter among those rocks.”

The man’s cool speech caught Derrick’s fancy.  He spoke as quietly as if he were sitting at an English dinner-table.

“You had better take command,” said Derrick.

“No, thanks; you are going to pull this through.  Are you ready to move?  Pass the word to the men!  And then all together!  It is now or never!”

A few seconds later they were stumbling in an indistinguishable mass towards the haven indicated by the latest comer.  It was a difficult scramble, not the least difficult part of it being the task of keeping in touch with each other.  But Derrick’s spirits returned at a bound with this further adventure, and he began to rejoice somewhat prematurely in his triumph over Carlyon’s caution.

The man who had come to his assistance kept at his elbow throughout the climb.  Not a word was spoken.  The men moved like cats through the dimness.  Below them was a confused din of rifle-firing.  Their advance had evidently not been detected.

“Silly owls!  Wasting their ammunition!” murmured Derrick to the man beside him.  He received no response.  A warning hand closed with a grip on his elbow.  And Derrick subsided.

When the moon rose, magnificent and glowing from behind the mountains, Derrick and his men looked down from a high perch on the hillside, and watched a furious party of tribesmen charge and occupy their abandoned position.

“Now, this is good!” said Derrick, and he was in the act of firing his revolver into the thick of the crowd below him when again the sinewy hand of his unknown friend checked him.

“Hold your fire, man!” the man said, in his quiet, unmoved voice.  “You will want it presently.”

But the stranger’s hold tightened.  He was standing in the shadow slightly behind Derrick.

“Wait!” he said.  “They will find you soon enough.  You are not in a position to take the offensive.”

Derrick swung round with a restless word.  And then he pulled up short.  He was facing a tribesman, gaunt and tall, with odd, light eyes that glittered strangely in the moonlight.  Derrick stared at the apparition, dumbfounded.  After a pause the man took his hand from the correspondent’s arm.

“Don’t give the show away for want of a little caution!” he said.  “There are your men to think of, remember.  This is no picnic.”