“Oh yes, sir,” Hiker Barlow confidently declared. “We shall see our flag floating over the Castle when we drive up.” There lingered upon the melon-shaped countenance of Lord Buntingdon a trace of that dubiety about the future which had affected his fancy before sunrise, but he shook off presentiment and followed his hiker escort to the waiting car hired for the great occasion.

Away in Glenbogle Mr Buckham, the bruise upon his chin a tartan of leaden blue and livid green and lurid yellow, was addressing his forces on the verge of the assault.

“Now don’t forget,” he wound up, “the girls will form a mobile reserve ready to throw their full weight into any gap made in the Castle defences by the men. Do your best, all of you, so that when your President arrives he will greet an N.U.H. victorious all along the line. I am leading the main assault on the front door. Hiker Williamson will command the feint against the back of the castle. Hiker Rosebotham and Hiker Hickey will lead the assaults against the side doors. Mr Prew will command the mobile reserve and give the order when it is to advance. Now then, boys and girls, three cheers for collective security and the freedom of the road!”

Three times did the fifty male hikers fling themselves against the doors of Glenbogle Castle to be drenched from above by pail after pail of soapy water, one of which wielded by Carrie accompanied its contents and temporarily extinguished Buckham himself and thereby perhaps saved the Castle from being rushed at the third and most vicious assault by diverting the attention of some of the hikers to extricating their leader from the bucket over his head. Up in the room in the North Tower the Lady of Ben Nevis and the chaplain were the only two inactive members of the garrison, and should they be called inactive whose prayers for the defenders never ceased as the tide of battle ebbed and flowed? Once during that third assault the south postern was forced, but Alan Macmillan, his blue eyes burning with this supreme expression of poetic action, flung Hiker Hickey head over heels back into the courtyard while Chester Royde, Butting Moose of the Carroways, rammed another hiker in the midriff, so that he lay gurgling for breath upon the gravel.

The repulse of that third assault was followed by a lull. The defenders gathered to consult. Reports were unanimous about the strain upon the doors and the unlikelihood of their holding out much longer.

“We’ll use the Lochaber axes,” Ben Nevis proclaimed. “Get them down from the walls.”