“Let me know when he returns to the Crimea.  We shall be able to hit upon a plan then.  But it will require some thought, and a reckless, unscrupulous tool.”

“I know the very man.  He is devoted to my interests, and a bitter enemy of McKay’s.”

“We shall succeed then, never fear,” and with these words Mr. Hobson took his leave.

CHAPTER XXIII.

WAR TO THE KNIFE.

Since we left him at Gibraltar McKay had led a busy life.  The “Horse Purchase” was in full swing upon the north front, where, in a short space of time, many hundreds of animals were picketed ready for shipment to the East.  Having set this part of his enterprise on foot, he had proceeded to the Spanish ports on the Eastern coast and repeated the process.

Alicante was the great centre of his operations on this side, and there, by means of dealers and contractors, he speedily collected a large supply of mules.  They were kept in the bull-ring and the grounds adjoining, a little way out of the town.  A number of native muleteers were engaged to look after them, and McKay succeeded in giving the whole body of men and mules some sort of military organisation.

They were a rough lot, these local muleteers, the scum and riff-raff of Valencia—­black-muzzled, dark-skinned mongrels, half Moors, half Spaniards, lawless, turbulent, and quarrelsome.

Fights were frequent amongst them—­sanguinary struggles, in which the murderous native knife played a prominent part, and both antagonists were often stabbed and slashed to death.

The local authorities looked askance at this gathering of rascaldom, and gave them a wide berth.  But McKay went fearlessly amongst his reprobate followers, administering a rough-and-ready sort of discipline, and keeping them as far as possible within bounds.

It was his custom to pay a nightly visit to his charge.  He went through the lines, saw that the night-patrols were on the alert, and the rest of the men quiet.

Repeatedly the overseers next him in authority cautioned him against venturing out of the town so late.

“There are evil people about,” said his head man, a worthy “scorpion,” whom he had brought with him from Gibraltar.  “Your worship would do better to stay at home at night.”

“What have I to fear?” replied McKay, stoutly.  “I have my revolver; I can take care of myself.”

They evidently did not think so, for it became the rule for a couple of them to escort him back to town without his knowledge.

They followed at a little distance behind him, carrying lanterns, and keeping him always in sight.

One night McKay discovered their kind intentions, and civilly, but firmly, put an end to the practice.

Next night he was attacked on his way back to the hotel.  A man rushed out on him from a dark corner, and made a blow at his breast with a knife.  It missed him, although his coat was cut through.