'For God's sake take me to Arcoll.' The man whistled shrilly on his fingers, and a second rider came cantering down the road.

As he came up I recognized his face, but could not put a name to it.

'Losh, it's the lad Crawfurd,' I heard a voice say.

'Crawfurd, man, d'ye no mind me at Lourenco Marques?
Aitken ?' The Scotch tongue worked a spell with me.

It cleared my wits and opened the gates of my past life.