together coming along, or in the country around Lichfield. Sneyd, a
rattling good fellow, and I have tossed for stations, and when it comes to
a battle he's to lead the yokels and I'm to follow behind, kicking the
scum of London into the firing-line. Damn 'em. But I'll kick 'em right
enough. Then there's Major Tixall--major, by gad--a slinking cut-throat,
with a face the colour of pigs' liver. What he's majoring it for, Brocton
and the devil alone know. The only good thing is we've got a first-rate
drill sergeant. He's Brocton's toady, and for that I don't like him, but
he does know his business, I must say that for him."

"Big-headed man, with a mouth slit up to his left ear?" said I, seizing
the welcome opportunity.

"How the deuce do you know?" asked Jack, astonished.

"He came searching the Hanyards this afternoon for a Jacobite spy, a
woman. But he didn't find her. She slipped through his fingers somehow. I
understood from big-mouth that you'd caught her father. What have you done
with him? Is he crow's meat yet?"

"No, for some reason or other, which is a mystery to me, Brocton sent him
on with the van."

"Here?"

"No, farther on. Their orders are to push into Stone to-day, and
Newcastle to-morrow. They ought to be in touch with the enemy there. Of
course it's not certain which way they'll come, and if they come this way,
Noll, mark you, we've made a mistake. We ought to have waited for 'em at
Milford. We could have blown 'em to bits from the top of the hills, long