Here, on the right of the communications between the English army and its base, a long range of redoubts had been thrown up and garrisoned by the Turks.  These crowned the summit of a range of low hillocks, and, in marching to his point, McKay paused on the level ground between two hills.  The Turks on sentry gave him a “Bono Johnny!” as he passed, by way of greeting; but they were far too lazy and too sleepy to do more.

It was evident they kept a poor look-out, and doubtful strangers were as free to pass as British friends.  Just upon the rear of No. 3 Redoubt McKay and his men came upon a fellow crouching low amongst the broken ground.  McKay would have passed by without remark, but his first look at the stranger, who wore no uniform and seemed a harmless, unoffending Tartar peasant, was followed by a second and keener gaze.  He thought he recognised the man; he certainly had seen his face before.  Directing his men to seize him, he made a longer and closer inspection, and found that it was the ruffian whom they had surprised and chased on the heights above the Alma the morning after the battle.

“He is up to no good,” said McKay.  “We must take him along with us.”

But where?  The job they were on was a definite one; not the capture of chance prisoners, which would certainly delay them on the road.

Still, remembering the last occasion on which he had seen this man, and the mysterious remarks that Hyde had let fall concerning him, McKay felt sure the fellow was not what he seemed.  This Tartar dress must be a disguise:  how could Hyde have made the acquaintance years before of a Tartar peasant in the Crimea?

Certainly the man must go with them, and therefore, placing him securely in the midst of his party, McKay marched on.  If nothing better offered, he would hand his prisoner over to the Commandant of Balaclava on arrival there.

But as they trudged along, and, leaving the cavalry-encampment on their right, approached the ground occupied by the Highland brigade, they encountered its general—­McKay had seen him at the Alma—­riding out, accompanied by his staff.

The quick eye of Sir Colin Campbell promptly detected the prisoner.  He rode up at once to the party, and said, in a sharp, angry tone—­

“What are you doing with that peasant?  Don’t you know that the orders are positive against molesting the inhabitants?  Who is in command of this party?”

McKay stood forth and saluted.

“You?  A sergeant-major?  Of the Royal Picts, too!  You ought to know better.  Let the man go!”

“I beg your pardon, Sir Colin,” began McKay; “but—­”

“Don’t argue with me, sir; do as I tell you.  I have a great mind to put you in arrest.”

McKay still stood in an attitude of mute but firm protest.

“What does the fellow mean?  Ask him, Shadwell.  I suppose he must have some reason, or he would not defy a general officer like this.”