He slipped his boot, and with the naked toe just touched the trigger
of his Martini. Ortheris misunderstood the movement, and the next
instant the Irishman's rifle was dashed aside, while Ortheris stood
before him, his eyes blazing with reproof.

'You!' said Ortheris. 'My Gawd, _you!_ If it was you wot would _we_
do?'

'Kape quiet, little man,' said Mulvaney, putting him aside, but very
gently; 'tis not me, nor will ut be me whoile Dinah Shadd's here. I
was but showin' something.'

Learoyd, bowed on his bedstead, groaned, and the gentleman-ranker
sighed in his sleep. Ortheris took Mulvaney's tendered pouch and we
three smoked gravely for a space while the dust-devils danced on the
glacis and scoured the red-hot plain.

'Pop?' said Ortheris, wiping his forehead.

'Don't tantalise wid talkin' av dhrink, or I'll shtuff you into your
own breech-block an'--fire you off!' grunted Mulvaney.

Ortheris chuckled, and from a niche in the veranda produced six bottles
of gingerade.

'Where did ye get ut, ye Machiavel?' said Mulvaney. ''Tis no bazar
pop.'

''Ow do _Hi_ know wot the Orf'cers drink?' answered Ortheris. 'Arst
the mess-man.'