stations), telling him that a big troop move was ordered-that he might expect about ten trains to unload at his station; that it was important all traffic should be kept moving sharp. But he took it calmly. The telegram continued that Lieut. Farquhar would accompany first train and would take charge, also concluded with a formula he knew well, "Keep me fully informed." "Guess I'll get a stiff hand with the ticker," he remarked. "Hope that young officer knows a bit about shunting." Thus it happened that Craske, who reckoned it would be as well to get the telegraph business through as early as he could, so as to leave himself free for outside work, had "arranged" three trains from the North and two from the South before the real business of the evening commenced. The order forms were all made out: all was ready to hand them to the trains as they came. But he had not calculated how long they would stay. The first train rumbled in, screamed a bit with its brakes as the guard ran along the train and hastily pinned down the levers, wheezed a bit with escaping steam, bumped among the buffers a few times, and finally stood still. Farquhar jumped out of the guard's van and ran to the hut. "Come to give you a hand, station-master," he said cheerily. "I've asked the guard to get his mate to draw up to the platform, and hope that's all right. Any wires for me?" "Two or three here. There's three trains comin' up before this can go away, you know. Henry's was keen to send 'em on, so I took 'em. 66 Golly, there will be a block. Life's going to be strenuous to-night, I see. Well, we'll get this lot out anyhow." Unloading a troop train is far from being the same thing as getting a city and suburban crowd out. To begin with, they're in a pretty mixed assortment of vehicles, box trucks, cattle trucks, battered flats, a timber waggon or two, some high steel-sided things intended for grain, some long, some short, some almost newly painted, some half-finished looking affairs snatched from the shops, some weatherbeaten old wanderers. The officers are crowded into a box truck and have to be waked, the N.C.O.'s turn out the men, kits are hastily thrown out— to be sorted later on,-horses have to be induced on to the little platform, waggons disentangled. All in the uncertain smoky light of the paraffin flares, which whistle and roar as the sapper in charge pumps air in to get the adjustment right, and casts fantastic shadows, while figures appear and disappear suddenly. Presently the train is empty, and almost as soon a8 it is drawn ahead a second has arrived, whistling from behind its headlight like a benighted wayfarer knocking for admittance. Besides this, two trains have come from the North, and our instructions are imperative to keep traffic moving. They can't get past, for the siding is long enough to take one train only. What is to be done? It is, in fact, our old friend The Shunting Puzzle, a Christmas diversion in our youth, a very real problem on a railway in war. Given four trains or so on the main line and a siding which will hold one of them only, how to make the two at opposite ends change places? We've got to do it. Those trains and engines must get away North, these must clear to the South. It's no use vowing to make a better arrangement next time. How ever, the railway hand has his solution pat. See-saw them! Of course, see-sawing is simple enough. One train goes into the siding, and all the others draw ahead of it. Then it draws out: another backs into the siding, and the two others pass it by, the second pulls out into its new position: and the thing's done-till the next train comes. Childishly simple, isn't it? But it is done quickest by day, with one or two shunters to turn the points and to pass the word to drivers and guards; it is also simpler when the road is quite level and brakes don't have to be pinned down each time (Arthur's has a nice little falling grade on each side), when drivers are not sleepy and guards a bit out of temper and the station-master a good deal worried by a telegraph ticker which keeps calling AP, what we can't spare. Besides, the young Traffic Officer has troubles of his own, and senior officers are apt to be fractious at night. Jessop had said, "You must hustle them. Heave them off the trains, and heave the trains out. All we know or care about is, that the big bridge is in danger unless this column starts quick. . . .” And just here was everything blocked, more trains pouring in and nowhere to put them. What use is patience if there is no time! It is a nightmare of continuous toil, a spasm of furious unloading and shunting, goading on the men to get themselves out, with their gear, their horses, the guns, the waggons, upon a rickety platform which threatens to collapse: there is a confusion of whistling, shouts of command and bangs of buffers, of couplings clinking, and brakes creaking. Then follows the tedious process of shunting and shifting this train away from the platform and bringing another into position. All is varied by complaints from irritable commanding officers, inquiries about the situation and when the other trains containing tools and other impedimenta will arrive, or what is to be done with things which can't be taken forward-Farquhar politely declines to declines to take charge of them. Telegrams come from the adjacent stations advising more troops on the road; these are in cipher which He has to be decoded. Telegrams minute." For at this moment from headquarters demand a grimy man has appeared at how things are progressing, the station-hut doorway. and include instructions to the O.C. force, who has to be found; these have to be answered immediately if not sooner, and the O.C. wants to wire back complaining of delay. Craske is getting writer's cramp. A doctor arrives intimating that some men have gone sick and ought to be sent to hospital in a lying down carriage (and there are only cattle trucks, all of which must go North). At headquarters they are anxious. "Jessop," telephones Godsal, "the Chief is worried about this troop move. The Intelligence men report that force of the enemy's is moving fast round to the north-west. When will the move be through?" "It seems to be going all right," replies Jessop; "everything's despatched, but the detraining reports come in slowly. They'll be fairly bunged up with detraining work anyway, and any wires I may send will merely flurry them. You'd better tell the Chief we're doing our best." Inarticulate murmurs from Godsal. The Chief is scanning the map, measuring again and again from the bridge along the river. "If only we knew anything for certain!" he says. "These doctors always want the impossible," mutters Farquhar, and aloud, "Just wait a is the engine-driver of the third train from the South. His engine is failing for want of water, which he ought to have taken at the bridge, but the tank was dry at the moment, and they told him to push on. Deadlock if this engine isn't filled up, for he's now in the middle of the puzzle, and unless the trains can be moved about the cavalry cannot be got alongside the platform, still less can the trucks be shifted so as to unload one by one. The Colonel is fuming. has already all but put the guard under arrest, and wants to know when this damn-foolishness is going to be finished so that his horses can get out. He's gone in search of the O.C. troops, thank goodness. He "There's my station tank," says Craske, "they filled it yesterday, but it'll be a long job with buckets." "Yes, and the Lord knows how long a fatigue party will take. Delay anyway. Some people are born fools. Now if we had a pump!" Doctor to the rescue. This doctor, keen fellow, grasps the difficulty at once, bethinks himself of patterns of pump he knows, and finally makes offer of the pump of his sterilising apparatus. Now, this sterilising apparatus is a new and elaborate affair, intended for the supply of pure water to troops on the line of march, and as an army on the line of march is a mighty thirsty organism, and, moreover, sation, that is the main body But all this takes precious time: we work harder than ever to get the trains cleared. The roaring flares illumine a scene of hasty but methodical toil, for the procedure of each train has been almost reduced to a formula, and if it were not for the interruptions and the little things which will go wrong, all were well. A nightmare job: thank Heaven, it comes to an end at last. Farquhar is grimy and dusty, his voice is hoarse, and he feels his eyes burn; but once the troops are off the trains he cares no more about them. He has passed on the messages to the Commanding Officer, who, by the by, has commandeered some of the scanty space of the station-hut to compose his orders in, but has at last gone. With his departure Craske seems calmer. Farquhar stands on the platform a moment: over there that dark mass, where a few lights twinkle about and an occasional jingle of harness varies the low hum of conver "Yes, sir; only I'm waiting to get the line clear. I can't get Henry on the wire just this moment had 'em a few minutes ago. I'm afraid there's a fault, and I reckon we didn't ought to use a telegraph failed order unless it can't be helped. There's no up train to come in after, so far as I know." "Oh, well, I suppose I might almost go and turn in myself. Still, we might get a completion report through to headquarters: the boss won't care what happens if this move has finished all right. I think I'll doss down here if you don't mind. I left my flea-bag off somewhere near this house when I came, and if nobody boned it I can make ready pretty quick." He stands at the door a moment looking round. The night is calm and gloomy: to the east there is just a suspicion of colour, a foretaste of the dawn. All is silent but for the hissing of steam from a leaky injector, and the occasional creak of a timber in one of the waggons. IV. It is almost dark still, but a dim twilight is spreading, and by degrees developing into a cold grey dawn over the desert, like a rather under-exposed photographic plate. The air is chill with the sharp frostiness of night, and the mounted scout shivers a little as he advances cautiously across the stony plain-has he not been taught that the half-hour or so before the dawn is just the favourite time for surprises? He is weary. Who would not be tired after having drearily groped his way for half the night across this supremely featureless country? It was bad enough to be turned out of the truck in which he and his comrades were ensconced, hard enough lying, but at any rate warm with a tarpaulin closing in the top so as to reduce the ventilation to a minimum; to be turned out-hustled out into pitchy darkness fitfully illumined by lanterns hurrying to and fro (for the flares were at the platform only), amidst the banging of trucks and shouts of command. Half awake, he had collected his horse and kit; almost before he was thoroughly awake, he found himself detailed as one of the advanced-guard scouts. coming up; there is a glow vaguely spreading from beyond the edge of the darkness-a smoky redness tinting a tion of the distance. The pictorial effect of it hardly appeals to him-he simply feels glad that it will soon be light. Perhaps they will soon come to a halt, or the advanced guard will be relieved. They had been slowly picking their way forward, halting now and then to verify their bearings. Most of the time they had been moving west. He wondered when they would halt. Hullo! that must be the sun The word is passed to push on more quickly: he can see his right and left hand men more distinctly now, and is conscious of the greater confidence which comes of moving in company. No longer do vague terrific shapes seem to loom up out of the darkness to meet his straining eyes. The glow is becoming quite pronounced, and the light is spreading wider across the sky. The country changes, we are no longer moving across dry powdery ground where such remnants of grass as there are have been burnt to tinder by harsh suns, it is more rocky, but there are occasional traces of vegetation and even a dusty bush or two be careful now, bushes might easily give cover to some sniper lying in wait for the unwary! There is a cleft in the ground, a dry nullah. We must be coming to something in the way of a watercourse. The scout lifts his hand in warning. A little farther, and we come to a deep ravine. We work along the edge, for, as if some mighty plough had been driven through |