Rudyard Kipling 249 tions of the most amiable were established ere silence came with the arrival of the subaltern, and the train jolted out over the rough track. “This is an immense improvement on shooting the unimpressionable Fuzzy in the open,” said Dick, from his place in the corner. “Oh, but he’s still unimpressed. There he goes!” said the subaltern, as a bullet struck the outside of the truck. “We always have at least one demonstration against the night-train. Generally they attack the rear-truck, where my junior commands. He gets all the fun of the fair.” “Not tonight though! Listen!” said Dick. A flight of heavy-handed bullets was succeeded by yelling and shouts. The children of the desert valued their nightly amusement, and the train was an excellent mark. “Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?” the subaltern asked of the engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers. “I should think so! This is my section of the line. They'll be playing old Harry with my permanent way if we don’t stop ’em.” “Right O!” “Hrrmph!” said the machine gun through all its five noses as the subaltern drew the lever home. The empty cartridges clashed on the floor and the smoke blew back through the truck. There was indiscriminate firing at the rear of the train, and return fire from the darkness without and unlimited howling. Dick stretched himself on the floor, wild with delight at the sounds and the smells. “God is very good — I never thought I’d hear this again. Give ’em hell, men. Oh, give ’em hell!” he cried. The train stopped for some obstruction on the line ahead and a party went out to reconnoiter, but came back, cursing, for spades. The children of the desert had piled sand and gravel on the rails, and twenty