There Were Twelve Of Them And A Sergeant.

V - - was the only European.

All went well till they reached a small hamlet near Zarna, about twenty miles from the Turkish border. It was midday. V - - was quietly breakfasting in his tent, the horses picketed, the men smoking or asleep. Suddenly the sound of firing was heard about a mile off, not sharp and loud, but slow and desultory, like the pop, pop, pop of a rifle or revolver. V - - was not in the least alarmed, but, the firing continuing for some time, he thought well at last to inquire into the matter. What was his surprise, on emerging from his tent, to find himself alone, not a trace of his companions to be seen. There were the picket-ropes, a smouldering fire, a kalyan, and the remains of a pilaff on the ground, but no men. The firing had done it. One and all had turned tail and fled. The position was not pleasant, for V - - was naturally absolutely ignorant of the road. 'They will come back,' he thought, and patiently waited. But sunset came, then night, then the stars, and still V - - was alone, utterly helpless and unable to move backwards or forwards. At sunrise a head was shoved into his tent. But it had a red fez on, not an astrakhan bonnet. It was one of the Bagdad escort. The Turks laughed heartily when they heard the story. 'It must have been us,' they said; 'we had nothing to do, and were practising with our revolvers.' In the mean time the Persians returned post haste to Kermanshah, and evinced great surprise that V - - was not with them."

"'He was the first to fly,' said the sergeant.

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