minute. They went calling up t' dale in t' cars. There's Outhwaite cotton fra' Nelson; a good lad. And Astley o' Bradford-he's i' wool and he's a right good shot. He started as a working hand (as I did), and now he's owner of two companies. There's Hanlanhe's a policeman i' Swaledale -pal o' Jim Astley's,-he's a right sportsman, and comes up for the fortnight. Jim has to square substitutes to get him away. He'll not shoot much. He can do it, but he likes t' marking better. There's Jack Hunley-he's just nowt, but he's all right. Workman No, he's Lord Flamborough's son. He's a decent lad, just about twenty-four or near. Then there's Sam Briggs-he's a pal of mine. He'll be shooting, and he's a right good shot too. He gets his holiday this time o' year so as to come here. You'll like him-he's stud-groom up at t' Duke's, and looks after t' hunters. There'll be more coming tomorrow, but that's all that's staying i't' hoose now. Clem Bates may come to-night, but I doubt if he'll get away from t' office while to-morrow. He made eighteen thousand on t' market last week, and wi' trade good like that he won't let up while he can be addlin' brass." Dicky's brain was reeling. The list sounded like the callover of a prisoners' camp in Germany. "D'you have the same party every year?" he asked. ally a new-comer or two, but it's not often they come from out of other parts than Yorkshire. You're a foreigner, you see. T' lads 'll be interested in you, for we don't see much o' your trade up in t' dales." "Well, it's a mixed bag you've got. Do your millionaires usually shoot with their workmen ? Chapman looked sharply at Dick, then, apparently reassured, smiled as he answered. "We're not Socialists, if that's what you're thinking of. We think those that have brass should keep it if they can. I brought you here because I guessed you'd fit in the picture. There's a lot i' London that wouldn't. Now we've worked and saved and speculated, and we've got brass. If we like a man we say so, whether he's a duke or a waiter, and we do what we like about it. We get no worse work out of our men for meeting 'em this sort of way, and besides, if we tried to put on airs they'd laugh at us. If a man's a good lad we like him up here, and we're not scared to show it." "In fact, you've got the same social scale that war brings in: a man's judged on his efficiency." "That's right. I suppose war did do that too." "Yes-a democracy of danger. Yours is a democracy of your own. If a man's a good lad, he's as good as you." "And why not? Why it looks queer to you is because you haven't seen it this way 66 Astley," said the host, "that's Fancett-Navy The square-faced man looked Dicky over in a glance, turned to Chapman and held out his hands-one palm down over the back of the other. "Head," said Chapman. The top hand slid off. A penny, head uppermost, was revealed. Astley produced a pound note from a trouserpocket, handed it over, and looked at Dicky again. Dicky smiled and raised his eyebrows inquiringly. Instantly the hands appeared under his nose in the same solemn and expectant way-" Tails," said Dicky. It was not; it was a head. Trying to emulate the speed with which his opponent had done the same thing a moment before, Dicky whipped a Bradbury from his pocket and paid up. The big man turned about and left the room, bellowing for the keeper's wife. Chap "He'll do that every morning to you now," he said; "he'd have missed you out if you hadn't given him the signal you'd come in. He does it every morning to us at breakfast, or whenever he meets one of us for the first time in the day. He's from Bradford." "Do they all do that at Bradford ?" Aye, most of 'em. Once to each man they meet and no more. No doubles or quits. Just one cut, sharp. Y'see, it's a matter o' credit, an' credit's brass i' business." The entry of the remainder of the party interrupted Dicky's attempts to unravel this cryptic explanation. Chapman introduced them in a whirl of Christian and surnames and sat down again. There was a general subsidence into chairs and a babel of talk. All the new arrivals seemed to want to do two things at once-to take off their boots and to get something to drink. Eventually both these requirements were satisfied. There seemed to be some arrangement by which labour was shared; perhaps the offices were traditional and hereditary or perhaps were arranged for the occasion, but certainly the peer's son carried the boots out to the kitchen, and the sporting policeman mixed the drinks. mixed the drinks. A heap of slippers by the side of the fire was sorted out and distributed, and with one accord the guests began to clamour for food. "And dinner's been waiting this hour," said the host Two men rose and went out at once. They illustrated between them specimens of north country Capital and Labour. They looked much alike, they dressed in much the same way, and, as Dicky was to discover, they were about equally wellread. A clatter of plates and dishes from across the hall a moment later indicated that they held the ranks of butler and parlour-maid between them. Dicky wondered at the moment which of them held the higher rank. He discovered later that Capital did, possibly owing to his reputation as a sound judge of wine. up. You don't work-that's means an awfully early start. what makes you drink so." It gets so hot, too, before we get back, but it is good for the horses. Peter is simply frightfully fit, and has started bucking again. He squeals and plunges as soon as he gets on the grass, the big scoundrel. Norah is rather fat, and will take longer to get fit, but they will be all ready for you in a fortnight. Such a bit of bad luck! Father has a horse we got last season-a big blood horse rather like Peter (but with much better manners), and we were going to put him in the Jumping Competition in the Show here on the 26th, but he has been kicked by Sally and won't be right for weeks-right on the hock. Betty Creile was going to ride him because her brother will have to be back before then, and she is so miserable. She is my greatest friend, and she says she thinks she saw you in the train coming down. She had been up to Rendall's about the shoeing and got out here. She saw the name on your suitcase, but she said she didn't talk to you. I wish you were able to be back because you could ride your lovely Peter in the Show. He's just fit for it. I have let Betty exercise him, as she rides very well, but I told her you were awfully particular who rode your beasts and objected to Jumping Shows, and that she must never take him over a hurdle even. There is a dance over at Garntree on the 21st, and we are going. We are so sunburnt we shall Following on what seemed to go by the local name of "Onesharp," and which in this case was a strong gin-and-water, Dicky and his host went upstairs to hunt out their slippers and to wash for dinner. Chapman, having shown his guest his room, departed to his own. Dicky sat on the bed and felt in his pocket for his pipe. He found the pipe, and also found a letter that had arrived just before he left the Hansard house; knowing that it was from his cousin Ann at Westleigh, he had decided its perusal could be postponed. The present appearing to be a suitable moment, he opened it. DEAR DICKY,-I do hope you had good shooting, and that you are enjoying yourself. What are the Hansards like We have started some un Dicky threw the letter on the bed and lit his pipe. The conjugal tangles of Westleigh village held no interest for him. After a reflective study of his appearance in the looking-glass opposite he remembered that he had not yet taken off his boots. He slowly removed one, and threw it across the room. Then he hobbled across to his suit-case, turned out the contents, and found his slippers. Sitting on the bed again, he unlaced the other boot. Then he relit his pipe, rummaged among his clothes in the kit-bag, found a fountainpen and writing materials, and sat down at the dressing-table. "DEAR ANN,-Am getting fine shooting. Shot rotten to begin with, but got better. Will be here a few days yet. 66 There is no earthly reason why your friend should not jump Peter. I don't know why you told her I objected. You had only got to ask. He ought to be placed if he doesn't win. "I won't be back for the dance, anyway. I wouldn't have gone if I was. Yours, He then hurriedly completed his toilet, and proceeded downstairs to a repast which would have made Mr Jorrocks burst into song. It was not merely Gargantuan-it was a Dales dinner for hungry Northcountrymen. While he endeavours to hold his own at the board, we will carry the reader thirtysix hours forward and some two hundred and fifty miles south, landing him at the Westleigh breakfast table as two ladies, the first arrivals, enter the dining-room. One goes to the coffee-urn, the other picks up a pile of Let me look. Yes, you were quite right. Oh, Ann! you did it beautifully!" "It's easy once you know. You'd better take Peter round the course this morning. He won't want much schooling— only getting hard. We'll put him on full corn now." "Oh-I'm all ready for him. He'll be ready too. Can I see "DICK. that letter again? Ye-e-es"P.S.-Light Pelham and I thought he looked like no Martingale." that (To be continued.) TALES OF THE R.I.C. XIX. MOUNTAIN WARFARE. THE movements of the flying columns of the I.R.A.-gangs of armed ruffians, usually numbering about forty, but sometimes more, sometimes less, and led by men with military experience (ex-soldiers and even ex-officers, to their everlasting shame)-have always corresponded accurately to the amount of police and military pressure brought to bear on them, which pressure has continually fluctuated in agreement to the whims and brainwaves of the politicians in power. the Figuratively speaking, these same politicians have kept the police and military with one hand tied behind their back, and sometimes when screams of the mob politicians in the House have been loudest, have very nearly tied up both their hands. If a chart had been kept during the Irish war showing the relative intensity of the politicians' screams and the activities of the I.R.A., the reading of it would be highly interesting and instructive. Extra pressure, more rigid enforcement of existing restrictions on movement, and increased military activity have always resulted in a general stampede of flying columns to the mountains of the West, in comparative safety, and swagger about among the simple and ignorant mountain-folk to their hearts' content. Here they would stay until the politicians, frightened by inspired questions in the House, would practically confine the military and police to barracks. The gunmen would then, with great reluctance, leave leave the safety of the mountains, and return to the southern front, to carry on once more the good work of political murder. And so the game of seesaw went on. Every time that the Crown forees saw victory in sight the politicians would drag them back again to start all afresh. The wonder is that the Crown forces stuck it so long with every hand against them, and their worst abuse coming from a cowardly section of their own countrymen in England. Early in 1921 the Crown forces in the South of Ireland suddenly gave forth signs that a determined effort was to be made to deal effectively, once and for all, with the gangs of armed murderers and robbers roaming the country, masquerading as soldiers of the Irish Republic; and again the flying columns fled in haste to their mountain retreats in the West, a part of the country where |