TOLD IN THE EAST

By Talbot Mundy

[[Original Book edition published by Bobbs-Merrill, Indianapolis, 1920. Source of the following edition is the omnibus "Romances of India" whichwas a reprint of three of Talbot Mundy's novels. ]]

Romances of India

By Talbot Mundy - King of the Khyber Rifles - Guns of the Gods - Told in the East

Contents

Hookum Hai. . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 For The Salt Which He Had Eaten. . . . . . . . . . . . 129Machassan Ah. . . . . . . . . . . . 235

TOLD IN THE EAST

HOOKUM HAI

I. 

A Blood-red sun rested its huge disk upon a low mud wall that cresteda rise to westward, and flattened at the bottom from its own weightapparently. A dozen dried-out false-acacia-trees shivered as thefaintest puff in all the world of stifling wind moved through them; anda hundred thousand tiny squirrels kept up their aimless scampering insearch of food that was not there. 

A coppersmith was about the only living thing that seemed to carewhether the sun went down or not. He seemed in a hurry to get a jobdone, and his reiterated "Bong-bong-bong!"--that had never ceased sincesunrise, and had driven nearly mad the few humans who were there to hearit--quickened and grew louder. At last Brown came out of a square mudhouse, to see about the sunset. 

He was nobody but plain Bill Brown--or Sergeant William Brown, to givehim his full name and entitlements--and the price of him was two rupeesper day. 

He stared straight at the dull red disk of the sun, and spat witheloquence. Then he wiped the sweat from his forehead, and scratched aplace where the prickly heat was bothering him. Next, he buttoned uphis tunic, and brushed it down neatly and precisely. There was officialbusiness to be done, and a man did that with due formality, heat or noheat. 

"Guard, turn out!" he ordered. 

Twelve men filed out, one behind the other, from the hut that he hadleft. They seemed to feel the heat more than Brown did, as they fell inline before Brown's sword. There was no flag, and no flag-pole in thatnameless health-resort, so the sword, without its scabbard, was doingduty, point downward in the ground, as a totem-pole of Empire. Brown hadstuck it there, like Boanerges' boots, and there it stayed from sunriseuntil sunset, to be displaced by whoever dared to do it, at his peril. 

They had no clock. They had nothing, except the uniforms and arms ofthe Honorable East India Company, as issued in this year of OurLord, 1857--a cooking-pot or two, a kettle, a little money and abutcher-knife. Their supper bleated miserably some twenty yards away, tied to a tree, and a lean. Punjabi squatted near it in readiness to buythe skin. It was a big goat, but it was mangy, so he held only two annasin his hand. The other anna (in case that Brown should prove adamant)was twisted in the folds of his pugree, but he was prepared to perjurehimself a dozen times, and take the names of all his female ancestors invain, before he produced it. 

The sun flattened a little more at the bottom, and began to movequickly, as it does in India--anxious apparently to get away from theday's ill deeds. 

"Shoulder umms!" commanded Brown. "General salute! Present-umms!"

The red sun slid below the sky-line, and the night was on them, asthough somebody had shut the lid. Brown stepped to the sword, jerked itout of the ground and returned it to his scabbard in three motions. 

"Shoulder-umms! Order-umms! Dismiss!" The men filed back into the hutagain, disconsolately, without swearing and without mirth. They hadput the sun to bed with proper military decency. They would have seenhumor--perhaps--or an excuse for blasphemy in the omission of such adetail, but it was much too hot to swear at the execution of it. 

Besides, Brown was a strange individual who detested swearing, and itwas a very useful thing, and wise, to humor him. He had a way of hisown, and usually got it. 

Brown posted a sentry at the hut-door, and another at the crossroadswhich he was to guard, then went round behind the but to bargain withthe goatskin-merchant. But he stopped before he reached the tree. 

"Boy!" he called, and a low-caste native servant came toward him at arun. 

"Is that fakir there still?"

"Ha, sahib!"

"Ha? Can't you learn to say 'yes, ' like a human being?"

"Yes, sahib!"

"All right. I'm going to have a talk with him. Kill the goat, and tellthe Punjabi to wait, if he wants to buy the skin. "

"Ha, sahib!"

Brown spun round on his heel, and the servant wilted. 

"Yes, sahib!" he corrected. 

Brown left him then, with a nod that conveyed remission of cardinal sin, and a warning not to repeat the offence. As the native ran off to getthe butcher-knife and sharpen it, it was noticeable that he wore achastened look. 

"Send Sidiki after me!" Brown shouted after him, and a minute later anearly naked Beluchi struck a match and emerged from the darkness, withthe light of a lantern gleaming on his skin. He followed like a snake, and only Brown's sharp, authority-conveying footfalls could be heard ashe trudged sturdily--straight-backed, eyes straight in front of him--towhere an age-old baobab loomed like a phantom in the night. He marchedlike a man in armor. Not even the terrific heat of a Central-Indiannight could take the stiffening out of him. 

The Beluchi ran ahead, just before they reached the tree. He stopped andheld the lantern up to let its light fall on some object that was closeagainst the tree-trunk. At a good ten-pace distance from the objectBrown stopped and stared. The lamplight fell on two little dots thatgleamed. Brown stepped two paces nearer. Two deadly, malicious humaneyes blinked once, and then stared back at him. 

"Does he never sleep?" asked Brown. 

The Beluchi said something or other in a language that was full of harshhard gutturals, and the owner of the eyes chuckled. His voice seemedto be coming from the tree itself, and there was nothing of him visibleexcept the cruel keen eyes that had not blinked once since Brown drewnearer. 

"Well?"

"Sahib, he does not answer. "

"Tell him I'm tired of his not answering. Tell him that if he can'tlearn to give a civil answer to a civilly put question I'll exercise myauthority on him!"

The Beluchi translated, or pretended to. Brown was not sure which, forhe was rewarded with nothing but another chuckle, which sounded likewater gurgling down a drain. 

"Does he still say nothing?"

"Absolutely nothing, sahib. "

Brown stepped up closer yet, and peered into the blackness, lookingstraight into the eyes that glared at him, and from them down at thebody of the owner of them. The Beluchi shrank away. 

"Have a care, sahib! It is dangerous! This very holy--most holy--mostreligious man!"

"Bring that lantern back. "

"He will curse you, sahib!"

"Do you hear me?"

The Beluchi came nearer again, trembling with fright. Brown snatched thelamp away from him, and pushed it forward toward the fakir, moving itup and down to get a view of the whole of him. There was nothing thathe saw that would reassure or comfort or please a devil even. It wasultradevilish; both by design and accident--conceived and calculatedghastliness, peculiar to India. Brown shuddered as he looked, and ittook more than the merely horrible to make him betray emotion. 

"What god do you say he worships?"

"Sahib, I know not. I am a Mussulman. These Hindus worship many gods. "

The fakir chuckled again, and Brown held the lantern yet nearer to himto get a better view. The fakir's skin was not oily, and for all theblanket-heat it did not glisten, so his form was barely outlined againstthe blackness that was all but tangible behind him. 

Brown spat again, as he drew away a step. He could contrive to expressmore disgust and more grim determination in that one rudimentary actthan even a Stamboul Softa can. 

"So he's holy, is he?"

"Very, very holy, sahib!"

Again the fakir chuckled, and again Brown held his breath and pushed thelantern closer to him. 

"I believe the brute understands the Queen's English!"

"He understanding all things, sahib! He knowing all things what willhappen! Mind, sahib! He may curse you!"

But Brown appeared indifferent to the danger that he ran. To the fakir'sunconcealed discomfort, he proceeded to examine him minutely, going overhim with the aid of the lantern inch by inch, from the toe-nails upward. 

"Well, " he commented aloud, "if the army's got an opposite, here's it!I'd give a month's pay for the privilege of washing this brute, just asa beginning!"

The man's toe-nails--for he really was a man!--were at least two incheslong. They were twisted spirally, and some of them were curled back onthemselves into disgusting-looking knots. What walking he had ever donehad been on his heels. His feet were bent upward, and fixed upward, by adeliberately cultivated cramp. 

His legs, twisted one above the other in a squatting attitude, were leanand hairy, and covered with open sores which were kept open by the swarmof insects that infested him. His loin-cloth was rotting from him. Hisemaciated body--powdered and smeared with ashes and dust and worse--wasperched bolt-up-right on a flat earth dais that had once on a time beenthe throne of a crossroads idol. One arm, his right one, hung byhis side in an almost normal attitude, and his right fingers movedincessantly like a man's who is kneading clay. But his other arm wasrigid--straight up in the air above his head; set, fixed, cramped, paralyzed in that position, with the fist clenched. And through the backof the closed fist the fakir's nails were growing. 

But, worse than the horror of the arm was the creature's face, withthe evidence of torture on it, and fiendish delight in torture for thetorture's sake. His eyes were his only organs that really lived still, and they expressed the steely hate and cruelty, the mad fanaticism, the greedy self-love--self-immolating for the sake of self--that is thethoroughgoing fakir's stock in trade. And his lips were like thegraven lips of a Hindu temple god, self-satisfied, self-worshiping, contemptuous and cruel. He chuckled again, as Brown finished hisinspection. 

"So that crittur's holy, is he? Well, tell him that I'm set here towatch these crossroads. Tell him I'm supposed to question every one whocomes, and find out what his business is, and arrest him if he can'tgive a proper account of himself. Say he's been here three days now, andthat that's long enough for any one to find his tongue in. Tell him if Idon't get an answer from him here and now I'll put him in the clink!"

"But, sahib--"

"You tell him what I say, d'you hear?"

The Beluchi made haste to translate, trembling as he spoke, and wiltingvisibly when the baleful eyes of the fakir rested on him for a second. The fakir answered something in a guttural undertone. 

"What does he say?"

"That he will curse you, sahib!"

"Sentry!" shouted Brown. 

"Sir!" came the ready answer, and the sling-swivels of a rifle clickedas the man on guard at the crossroads shouldered it. There are some menwho are called "sir" without any title to it, just as there are somesergeants who receive a colonel's share of deference when out on anon-commissioned officer's command. Bill Brown was one of them. 

"Come here, will you!"

There came the sound of heavy footfalls, and a thud as a rifle-buttdescended to the earth again. Brown moved the lamp, and its beams fellon a rifleman who stood close beside him at attention--like a jinneeformed suddenly from empty blackness. 

"Arrest this fakir. Cram him in the clink. "

"Very good, sir!"

The sentry took one step forward, with his fixed bayonet at the"charge, " and the fakir sat still and eyed him. 

"Oh, have a care, sahib!" wailed the Beluchi. "This is very holy man!"

"Silence!" ordered Brown. "Here. Hold the lamp. "

The bayonet-point pressed against the fakir's ribs, and he drew back aninch or two to get away from it. He was evidently able to feel pain whenit was inflicted by any other than himself. 

"Come on, " growled the sentry. "Forward. Quick march. If you don't wanttwo inches in you!"

"Don't use the point!" commanded Brown. "You might do him an injury. Treat him to a sample of the butt!"

The sentry swung his rifle round with an under-handed motion that allriflemen used to practise in the short-range-rifle days. The fakirwinced, and gabbled something in a hurry to the man who held the lamp. 

"He says that he will speak, sahib!"

"Halt, then, " commanded Brown. "Order arms. Tell him to hurry up!"

The Beluchi translated, and the fakir answered him, in a voice thatsounded hard and distant and emotionless. 

"He says that he, too, is here to watch the crossroads, sahib! He saysthat he will curse you if you touch him!"

"Tell him to curse away!"

"He says not unless you touch him, sahib. "

"Prog him off his perch!" commanded Brown. 

The rifle leaped up at the word, and its butt landed neatly on thefakir's ribs, sending him reeling backward off his balance, but notupsetting him completely. He recovered his poise with quite astonishingactivity, and shuffled himself back again to the center of the dais. Hiseyes blazed with hate and indignation, and his breath came now in sharpgasps that sounded like escaping steam. He needed no further invitationto commence his cursing. It burst out with a rush, and paused for bettereffect, and burst out again in a torrent. The Beluchi hid his facebetween his hands. 

"Now translate that!" commanded Brown, when the fakir stopped for lackof breath. 

"Sahib, I dare not! Sahib--"

Brown took a threatening step toward him, and the Beluchi changed hismind. Brown's disciplining methods were a too recently encountered factto be outdone by a fakir's promise of any kind of not-yet-met damnation. 

"Sahib, he says that because your man has touched him, both you andyour man shall lie within a week helpless upon an anthill, still living, while the ants run in and out among your wounds. He says that the antsshall eat your eyes, sahib, and that you shall cry for water, and thereshall be no water within reach--only the sound of water just beyond you. He says that first you shall be beaten, both of you, until your backsand the soles of your feet run blood, in order that the ants may have anentrance!"

"Is he going to do all this?"

The Beluchi passed the question on, and the fakir tossed him an answerto it. 

"He says, sahib, that the gods will see to it. "

"So the gods obey his orders, do they. Well, they've a queer sense ofduty! What else does he prophesy?"

"About your soul, sahib, and the sentry's soul. "

"That's interesting! Translate!"

"He says, sahib, that for countless centuries you and your man shallinhabit the carcasses of snakes, to eat dirt and be trodden on andcrushed, until you learn to have respect for very holy persons!"

"Is he going to have the ordering of that?"

"He says that the gods have already ordered it. "

"It won't make much difference, then, what I do now. If that's in storefor me in any case, I may as well get my money's worth before the funbegins! Tell him that unless he can give me a satisfactory reason forbeing here I shall treat him to a little more rifle-butt, and somethingelse afterward that he will like even less!"

"He says, " explained the Beluchi, after a moment's conversation with thefakir, "that he is here to see what the gods have prophesied. He saysthat India will presently be whelmed in blood!"

"Whose blood?"

"Yours and that of others. He says, did you not see the sunset?"

"What of the sunset?"

Brown looked about him and, save where the lantern cast a fitful lighton the fakir and the sentry and the native servant, and threw into faintrelief the shadowy, snake-like tendrils of the baobab, his eyesfailed to pierce the gloom. The sunset was a memory. In that heavy, death-darkness silence it seemed almost as though there had never been asun. 

"'A blot of blood, ' he says. He says the order has been given. He saysthat half of India shall run blood within a day, and the whole of itwithin a week!"

"Who gave the order?"

"He answers 'Hookum hai!'--which means 'It is an order!' Nothing moredoes the holy fakir say. "

"To the clink with him!" commanded Brown. "I'm tired of these Old MotherShipton babblings. That's the third useless Hindu fanatic within a weekwho has talked about India being drenched in blood. Let him go in to thedepot under guard, and do his prophesying there! Bring him along. "

The sentry's rifle-butt rose again and threatened business. The Beluchigave a warning cry, and the fakir tumbled off his dais. Then, with thetrembling Beluchi walking on ahead with the lantern, and Brown and thesentry urging from behind, the fakir jumped and squirmed and wabbledon his all but useless feet toward the guardroom. When they reached thetree where the goat had bleated, the Punjabi skin-buyer rose up, tookone long look at the fakir and ran. 

"Well, I'll be!" exclaimed the sentry. 

"You'll be worse than that, " said Brown, "if you use that languageanywhere where I'm about! I'll not have it, d'you hear? Get on ahead, and open the door of the clink!"

The sentry obeyed him, and a moment later the fakir was thrust into afour-square mud-walled room, and the door was locked on him. 

"Back to your post, " commanded Brown. "And next time I hear youswearing, I'll treat you to a double-trick, my man! About turn. Quickmarch. "

The sentry trudged off without daring to answer him, and Brown took agood look at the fakir through the iron bars that protected the tophalf of the door. Then he went off to see about his supper, of newlyslaughtered goat-chops and chupatties baked in ghee. His soul revoltedat the thought of it, but it was his duty to eat it and set an exampleto the men; and duty was the only thing that mattered in Bill Brown'sscheme of things. 

"Maybe it's true, " he muttered, "and maybe it's all lies; there's noknowing. Maybe India's going to run blood, as these fakirs seem tothink, and maybe it isn't. There'll be more blood shed than mine in thatcase! 'Hookum hai'--'It is orders, ' heh? Well--there's more than onesort of 'Hookum hai!' I've got my orders too!"

He doubled the guard, when supper bad been eaten and the guardroom hadbeen swept and the pots and kettle had been burnished until they shone. Then he tossed a chupatty to the imprisoned fakir, spat again from sheerdisgust, lit his pipe and went and sat where he could hear the footbeatsof the sentries. 

"They can't help their religion, " he muttered. "The poor infidels don'tknow no better. And they've got a right to think what they please 'aboutme or the Company. But I've no patience with uncleanliness! That's wrongany way you look at it. That critter can't see straight for the dirt onhim, nor think straight for that matter. He's a disgrace to humanity. Priest or fakir or whatever he is, if I live to see tomorrow's sun I'llhand him over to the guard and have him washed!"

Having formed that resolution, Brown dismissed all thoughts of thefakir. His memory went back to home--the clean white cottage on theSussex Downs, and the clean white girl who once on a time had waited forhim there. For the next few hours, until the guard was changed, the onlysigns or sounds of life were the glowing of Brown's pipe, the steadyfootfalls of the sentries and occasional creakings from the hell-hotguard-room, where sleepless soldiers tossed in prickly discomfort. 

II. 

Bill Brown, with his twelve, had not been set to watch a lonelycrossroad for the fun of it. One road was a well-made highway, and ledfrom a walled city, where three thousand men sweated and thoughtof England, to another city, where five thousand armed natives drewEngland's pay, and wore English uniforms. 

The other road was a snake-like trail, nearly as wide but not nearlyso well kept. It twisted here and there amid countless swarming nativevillages, and was used almost exclusively by natives, whose rightfulbusiness was neither war nor peace nor the contriving of either of them. It had been a trade-road when history was being born, and the ladenox-carts creaked along it still, as they had always done and always willdo until India awakes. 

But there are few men in the world who attend to nothing but theirrightful business, and there are even more in India than elsewherewho are prone to neglect their own affairs and stir up sedition amongothers. There are few fighting-men among that host. They are priestsfor the most part or fakirs or make-believe pedlers or confessed andshameless mendicants; and they have no liking for the trunk roads, where the tangible evidence of Might and Majesty may be seen marching ineight-hundred-man battalions. They prefer to dream along the byways, andset other people dreaming. They lead, when the crash comes, from behind. 

Though the men who made the policies of the Honorable East India Companywere mostly blind to the moving finger on the wall, and chose to imaginethemselves secure against a rising of the millions they controlled; andthough most of their military officers were blinder yet, and failed toread the temper of the native troops in their immediate command, still, there were other men who found themselves groping, at least two yearsbefore the Mutiny of '57. They were groping for something intangible andnoiseless and threatening which they felt was there in a darkness, butwhich one could not see. 

Baines was one of them--Lieutenant-General Baines, commanding atBholat. His troops were in the center of a spider's web of roads thatcriss-crossed and drained a province. There were big trunk arteries, which took the flow of life from city to walled city, and a mass ofwinding veins in the shape of grass-grown country tracks. He could feel, if any man could, the first faint signs of fever rising, and he wasplaced where he could move swiftly, and cut deep in the right spot, should the knife be needed. 

He was like a surgeon, though, who holds a lancet and can use it, butwho lacks permission. The poison in India's system lay deep, and thefever was slow in showing itself. And meanwhile the men who had theordering of things could see neither necessity nor excuse for so much asa parade of strength. They refused, point-blank and absolutely, to admitthat there was, or, could be, any symptom of unrest. 

He dared not make new posts for officers, for officers would grumble atenforced exile in the country districts, and the Government would get tohear of it, and countermand. But there were non-commissioned officersin plenty, and it was not difficult to choose the best of them--threemen--and send them, with minute detachments, to three different pointsof vantage. Non-commissioned officers don't grumble, or if they do noone gets to hear of it, or minds. And they are just as good as officersat watching crossroads and reporting what they see and hear. 

So where a little cluster of mud huts ached in the heat of a rightangle where the trunk road crossed a native road some seventy miles fromBholat, Bill Brown--swordsman and sergeant and strictest of martinets, as well as sentimentalist--had been set to watch and listen and report. 

There were many cleverer men in the non-commissioned ranks of Baine'scommand, many who knew more of the native languages, and who hadmore imagination. But there was none who knew better how to win theunqualified respect and the obedience of British and native alike, or who could be better counted on to obey an order, when it came, literally, promptly and in the teeth of anything. 

Brown's theories on religion were a thing to marvel at, and walksingularly wide of, for he was a preacher with a pair of fists whenthoroughly aroused. And his devotion to a girl in England whom no onein his regiment had ever seen, and of whom he did not even possess alikeness, was next door to being pitiable. His voice was like a raven's, with something rather less than a raven's sense of melody; he was veryprone to sing, and his songs were mournful ones. He was not a socialacquisition in any generally accepted sense, although his language wascompletely free from blasphemy or coarseness. His ideas were too cutand dried to make conversation even interesting. But his loyalty and hissense of duty were as adamant. 

He had changed the double guard at the crossroads; and had posted twofresh men by the mud-walled guardroom door. He had lit his pipe for thedozenth time, and had let it go out again while he hummed a verse of aCovenanters' hymn. And he had just started up to wall over to the celland make a cursory inspection of his prisoner, when his ears caught adistant sound that was different from any of the night sounds, thoughscarcely louder. 

Prompt as a rifle in answer to the trigger, he threw himself down onall fours, and laid his ear to the ground. A second later, he was on hisfeet again. 

"Guard!" he yelled. "Turn out!"

Cots squeaked and jumped, and there came a rush of hurrying feet. Theeight men not on watch ran out in single file, still buttoning theiruniforms, and lined up beside the two who watched the guardroom door. 

"Stand easy!" commanded Brown. Then he marched off to the crossroads, finding his way in the blackness more by instinct and sense of directionthan from any landmark, for even the road beneath his feet was barelyvisible. 

"D'you mean to tell me that neither of you men can hear that sound?" heasked the sentries. 

Both men listened intently, and presently one of them made out a veryfaint and distant noise, that did not seem to blend in with the othernight-sounds. 

"Might be a native drum?" he hazarded. 

"No, 'tain't!" said the other. "I got it now. It's a horse galloping. Tired horse, by the sound of him, and coming this way. All right, Sergeant. "

"One of you go two hundred yards along the road, and form anadvance-post, so to speak. Challenge him the minute he's withinear-shot, and shoot him if he won't halt. If he halts, pass him along toNumber Two. Number Two, pass him along to the guardroom, whereI'll deal with him! Which of you's Number One? Number One, then--forward--quick--march!"

The sentry trudged off in one direction, and Bill Brown in another. Thesentry concealed itself behind a rock that flanked the road, andBrown spent the next few minutes in making the guard "port arms, " andcarefully inspecting their weapons with the aid of a lantern. He hadalready inspected there once since supper, but he knew the effect thatanother inspection would be likely to produce. Nothing goes furthertoward making men careful and ready at the word than incessant andunexpected but quite quietly performed inspection of minutest details. 

He produced the effect of setting the men on the qui vive withoutalarming them. 

Suddenly, the farthest advanced sentry's challenge rang out. 

"Frie-e-e-e-nd!" came the answer, in nasal, high-pitched wail, but thegalloping continued. 

"Halt, I tell you!" A breech-bolt clicked, and then another one. Theywere little sounds, but they were different, and the guard could hearthem plainly. The galloping horse came on. 

"Cra-a-a-a-ack!" went the sentry's rifle, and the flash of it spurtedfor an instant across the road, like a sheet of lightning. And, justas lightning might, it showed an instantaneous vision of a tiredgray horse, foam-flecked and furiously ridden, pounding down the roadhead-on. The vision was blotted by the night again before any one couldsee who rode the horse, or what his weapons were--if any--or form atheory as to why he rode. 

But the winging bullet did what the sentry's voice had failed to do. There came a clatter of spasmodic hoof-beats, an erratic shower ofsparks, a curse in clean-lipped decent Urdu; a grunt, a struggle, moresparks again, and then a thud, followed by a devoutly worded prayerthat Allah, the all-wise provider of just penalties, might blast theuniverse. 

"Stop talkin'!" said the sentry, and a black-bearded Rajput rolled free, and looked up to find a bayonet-point within three inches of his eye. 

"Poggul!" snarled the Mohammedan. 

"Poggul's no password!" said the sentry. "Neither to my good-nature norto nothing else. Put up your 'ands, and get on your feet, and march!Look alive, now! Call me a fool, would yer? Wait till the sergeant'sthrough with yer, and see!"

The Rajput chose to consider a retort beneath his dignity. He rose, andtook one quick look at the horse, which was still breathing. 

"Your bayonet just there, " he said, "and press. So he will die quickly. "

The sentry placed his bayonet-point exactly where directed, and leanedhis weight above it. The horse gave a little shudder, and lay still. 

"Poggul!" said the Rajput once again. And this time the sentry lookedand saw cold steel within three inches of his eye!

"Your rifle!" said the Rajput. "Hand it here!"

And, to save his eyesight, the sentry complied, while the Rajput'sivory-white teeth grinned at him pleasantly. 

"Now, hands to your sides! Attention! March!" the Rajput ordered, andwith his own bayonet at his back the sentry had to march, whetherhe wanted to or not, by the route that the other chose, toward theguardroom. The Rajput seemed to know by instinct where the second sentrystood although the man's shape was quite invisible against the night. Hecalled out, "Friend!" again as he passed him, and the sentry hearing thefirst sentry's footsteps, imagined that the real situation was reversed. 

So, out of a pall of blackness, to the accompanying sound of riflesbeing brought up to the shoulder, a British sentry--feeling and lookingprecisely like a fool--marched up to his own guardroom, with a man whoshould have been his prisoner in charge of him. 

"Halt!" commanded Brown. "Who or what have you got there, Stanley?"

"Stanley is my prisoner at present!" said a voice that Brown vaguelyrecognized. 

He stepped up closer, to make sure. 

"What, you? Juggut Khan!"

"Aye, Brown sahib! Juggut Khan--with tidings, and a dead gray horse onwhich to bear them! If this fool could only use his bayonet as he canshoot, I think I would be dead too. His brains, though, are all behindhis right eye. Tie him up, where no little child can come and make himprisoner!"

"Arrest that man!" commanded Brown, and two men detached themselves fromthe end of the guard, and stood him between them, behind the line. 

"Here's his rifle!" smiled Juggut Khan, and Brown received it with anill grace. 

"How did you get past the other sentry?" he asked. 

"Oh, easily! You English are only brave; you have no brains. Sometimesone part of the rule is broken, but the other never. You are not alwaysbrave!"

"I suppose you're angry because he killed your horse?"

"I am angry, Brown sahib, for greater happenings than that! The manconceivably was right, since I did not halt for him, and I suppose hehad his orders. I am angry because the standard of rebellion is raised, and because of what it means to me!"

"Are you drunk, Juggut Khan?"

"Your honor is pleased to be humorous? No, I am not drunk. Nor have Ieaten opium. I have eaten of the bread of bitterness this day, and drunkof the cup of gall. I have seen British officers--good, brave fools, some of whom I knew and loved--killed by the men they were supposedto lead. I have seen a barracks burning, and a city given over to belooted. I have seen white women--nay, sahib, steady!--I have seen themrun before a howling mob, and I have seen certain of them shot by theirown husbands!"

"Quietly!" ordered Brown. "Don't let the men hear!"

"One of them I slew myself, because her husband, who was wounded, sentme to her and bade me kill her. She died bravely. And certain othersI have hidden where the mutineers are not likely to discover them atpresent. I ride now for succor--or, I rode, rather, until your expertmarksman interfered with me! I now need another horse. "

"You mean that the native troops have mutinied?" "I mean rather morethan that, sahib. Mohammedans and Hindus are as one, and the crowd iswith them. This is probably the end of the powder-train, for, from whatI heard shouted by the mutineers, almost the whole of India is in revoltalready!"

"Why?"

"God knows, sahib! The reason given is that the cartridges supplied aregreased with the blended fat of pigs and cows, thus defiling both Hinduand Mohammedan alike. But, if you ask me, the cause lies deeper. In themeantime, the rebels have looted Jailpore and burned their barracks, andwithin an hour or two they will start along this road for Bholat, whichthey have a mind to loot likewise. My advice to you is retire at once. Get me another horse from somewhere, that I may carry warning. Thenfollow me as fast as you and your men can move. "

"Bah!" said Brown. "They'll find General Baines to deal with them atBholat. "

"Who knows yet how many in Bholat have not risen? Are you positive thatthe garrison there has not already been surrounded by rebels? I am not!I would not be at all surprised to learn that General Baines is so busydefending himself that he can not move in any direction. And--does yourhonor mean to hold this guardroom here against five thousand?"

"I mean to obey my orders!" answered Brown. 

"And your orders are?"

"My orders!"

"Would they preclude the provision of another horse for me?"

"There's a village about a mile away, down over yonder, where I thinkyou'll find a decent horse--along that road there. "

"And your honor's orders would possibly permit a certain payment for thehorse?"

"Positively not!" said Brown. 

"Then--'

"To seize a horse, for military use, under the spur of necessity, andafter giving a receipt for it, would be in order. "

"So I am to spend the night wandering around the countryside, in a vainendeavor to--"

But Brown was doing mathematics in his head. Two men to guard prisoners, two on guard at the crossroads, two at the guardroom door--six fromtwelve left six, and six were not enough to rape a countryside. 

"Guard!" he ordered. "Release that prisoner. Now, you Stanley, let thisbe a lesson to you, and remember that I only set you free because I'dhave been short-handed otherwise. Number One! Stand guard between theclink and the guardroom door. Keep an eye on both. The remainder--formtwo-deep. Right turn! By the left, quick-march! Left wheel!. . . Now, "he said, turning to Juggut Khan, "if you'll come along I'll soon get ahorse for you!"

The Rajput strode along beside him, and gave him some additionalinformation as they went, Brown taking very good care all the time tokeep out of earshot of the men and to speak to Juggut Khan in low tones. He learned, among other things, that Juggut Khan had lost every annathat he owned, and had only escaped with his life by dint of luck andswordship and most terrific riding. 

"Are all of you Rajputs loyal?" asked Brown. 

"I know not. I know that I myself shall stay loyal until the end!"

"Well--the end is not in doubt. There can only be one end!" commentedBrown. 

"Of a truth, sahib, I believe that you are right. There can only be oneend. This night is not more black, this horizon is no shorter, than theoutlook!"

"Then, you mean--"

"I mean, sahib, that this uprising is more serious than you--or anyother Englishman--is likely to believe. I believe that the side I fightfor will be the losing side. "

"And yet, you stay loyal?"

"Why not?"

"All the same, Juggut Khan--I'm not emotional, or a man of many words. Idon't trust Indians as a rule! I--but--here--will you shake hands?"

"Certainly, sahib!" said the Rajput. "We be two men, you and I! Whyshould the one be loyal and the other not?"

"When this is over, " said Brown, "if it ends the way we want, and we'reboth alive, I'd like to call myself your friend!"

"I have always been your friend, sahib, and you mine, since the day whenyou bandaged up a boy and gave him your own drinking-water and carriedhim in to Bholat on your shoulder, twenty miles or more. "

"Oh, as for that--any other man would have done the same thing. That wasnothing!"

"Strange that when a white man does an honorable deed he lies about it!"said Juggut Khan. "That was not nothing, sahib, and you know it was notnothing! You know that from the heat and the exertion you were ill formore than a month afterward. And you know that there were others there, of my own people, who might have done what you did, and did not!"

"But, hang it all! Why drag up a little thing like this?"

"Because, sahib, I might have no other opportunity, and--"

"Well? And what?"

"And the Rajput boy whom you carried was my son!"

III. 

The finding of a remount for Juggut Khan was not so troublesome as mighthave been supposed. The rumors and plans and whispered orders for thecoming struggle had been passed around the countryside for months past, and every man who owned a horse had it stalled safely near him, for usewhen the hour should come. 

There were country-ponies and Arabs and Kathiawaris and Khaubulis amongwhich to pick, and though the average run of them was worse than merelybad, and though both best and worst were hidden away whenever possible, good horses were discoverable. Within an hour, Bill Brown; with the aidof his men, had routed out a Khaubuji stallion for Juggut Khan, one fitto carry him against time the whole of the way to Bholat. 

The Rajput mounted him where Brown unearthed him, and watched thesigning of a scribbled-out receipt with a cynical smile. 

"If he comes to claim his money for the horse, " said Juggut Khan, "I--even I, who am penniless--will pay him. Good-by, Brown sahib!" Heleaned over and grasped the sergeant by the hand. "Take my advice, now. I know what is happening and what has happened. Fall back on Bholatat once. Hurry! Seize horses or even asses for your men, and ride inhotfoot. Salaam!"

He drove his right spur in, wheeled the horse and started across countryin the direction of Bholat at a hand-gallop, guiding himself solelyby the soldier's sixth sense of direction, and leaving the problem ofpossible pitfalls to the horse. 

"If what he says is true, " said Brown, as the clattering hoof-beats diedaway, "and I'm game to take my oath he wouldn't lie to me, I'd give morethan a little to have him with me for the next few hours!"

The men came clustering round him now, anxious for an explanation. They had held their tongues while Juggut Khan was there, because theyhappened to know Brown too well to do otherwise. He would have snubbedany man who dared to question him before the Indian. But, now that theIndian was gone, curiosity could stay no longer within bounds. 

"What is it, Sergeant? Anything been happening? What's the news? What'sthat I heard him say about rebellion? They're a rum lot, them Rajputs. D'you think he's square? Tell us, Sergeant!"

"Listen, then. Rebellion has broken out. The native barracks at Jailporehave been burned, and all the English officers are killed--or so saysJuggut Khan. He's riding on, to carry the news to General Baines. Hesays that the mutineers are planning to come along this way some timewithin the next few hours!"

"What are we going to do, then?"

"That's my business! I'm in command here!"

"Yes, but, Sergeant--aren't you going back to Bholat? Aren't you goingto follow him? Are you going to stay here and get cut up? We'll getcaught here like rats in a trap!"

"Are you giving orders here?" asked Brown acidly. "Fall in! Come on, now! Hurry! 'Tshun--eyes right--ri'--dress. Eyes--front. Ri'--turn. Bythe left--quick--march! Silence, now! Left! Left! Left!"

He marched them back toward the crossroads without giving them anyfurther opportunity to remonstrate or ask for information. 

It was not until he reached the crossroads, without being challenged, that he showed any sign of being in any way disturbed. 

"Sentry!" he shouted. "Sentry!"

But there was no answer. 

"Halt!" he ordered, and he himself went forward to investigate. Theblackness swallowed him, but the men could hear him move, and they heardhim fall. They heard him muttering, too, within ten paces of them. Thenthey heard his order. 

"Bring a light here, some one. "

One man produced a piece of candle, struck a match and lit it. A momentlater they had all broken order, and were standing huddled up togetherlike a frightened flock of sheep, peering through dancing, candle-litshadows at something horrible that Brown was handling. 

"What is it, Sergeant?"

"What in hell's happened?"

"Who was that swearing?" inquired Brown, with a sudden look up acrosshis shoulder. "You, Taylor? You again? Swearing in the presence ofdeath? Talking of hell, with your two comrades lying dead at thecrossroads, and you like to follow both o' them at any minute?"

Both of the guards lay dead. They lay quite neatly, side by side, without a sign about them to show that they had met with violence. Brownrolled one body over, though, and then the cause of death became moreobvious. A stream of blood welled out of the man's back, from betweenthe shoulder-blades--warm blood, that had not even started to coagulate. 

"They've been dead about three minutes!" commented Brown, rising, andwiping his hands in the road-dust to get the blood off them. "Pick 'emup. Carefully, now! Frog-march 'em, face-downwards. That's better! Now, forward. Quick, march!"

The procession advanced toward the guardhouse in grim silence, and onceagain there was no challenge when there should have been. The lamp wasstill burning in the guardroom, for they could see it plainly as theydrew nearer, but there was no noise of a sentry's footfalls, or hoarse"Halt!" and "Who comes there?"

Nor was there any sign yet of the man whom Brown had left to guard both"clink" and guardroom. Brown let them take their dead comrades into theguardroom first, then set two fresh guards at the door, and covered upthe bodies with a sheet before commencing to investigate. 

He started off toward the cell where he had imprisoned the fakir. Hewent by himself, and no one volunteered to go with him. 

He had gone five yards when the second explanation met his eyes. Thistime there was no need to stoop down, nor to turn any body over. Thesentry whom he had left to guard both cell and guardroom stood boltupright, with his mouth and his eyes wide open; skewered to the wall ofthe guardhouse by an iron spike, which pierced his chest. 

"A lamp and four men here!" ordered Brown, without waiting to let thehorror of the sight sink in. "Take that poor chap down, and lay him inthe guardroom beside the others. How? How should I know? Pull it out, orbreak it off--I don't care which; don't leave him there, that's all. "

He walked on toward the cell-door, while they labored, and fingeredgingerly around the spike, which must have been driven through thesentry's chest with a hammer. 

"I thought as much!" he muttered. And, though he had not thought asmuch, he might have done so. "I knew that a man who could maim his ownbody in that way was capable of any crime in the calendar!"

The door of the cell stood open, and there was no sign of any fakir, orof any one who might have helped him go--nothing but an empty cell, withthe haunting smell of the fakir still abiding in it. 

Bill Brown spat, and closed the cell-door. 

"I'm thinking that Juggut Khan told nothing but the truth, " he muttered. "Things look right, don't they, if that's so! Obey, Obey! I'd have likedto see England just once again--I would indeed. If I could only see herjust once. If I'd a letter from her, or her picture. This is a rotten, rat-in-a-hole, lonely, uncreditable way to die! I wish Juggut Khanwere here. I'd have somebody to help me keep my good courage up in thatcase. "

The lock on the cell-door was broken, so he only closed it, then startedback toward the guardroom. 

"Three rifles, and three ammunition pouches gone!" he muttered. "That'sthree weapons they've got, in any case. A hornet's nest'd be betterstopping in than this place. "

He overtook the men who were carrying in the nail-killed sentry, and hesaw that their faces were drawn and white. So were those of the othermen, who were clustered in the guardroom door. 

"What next, Sergeant? Hadn't we better be quick? Why not burn the place?That'd do instead o' buryin' the dead ones, and it'd give us a light toget away by. Might serve as a beacon, too. Might fetch assistance!"

It was evident that panic had set in. 

"Fall in!" commanded Brown, and his straight back took on a curve thatmeant straightness to the nth power. 

"'Tshun! Ri'--dress! Eyes--front!"

He glared at them for just about one minute before he spoke, and duringthat minute each man there realized that what was coming would be quiteirrevocable. 

"I'm sergeant here. My orders are to hold this post until relieved. Therefore--and I hope there's no man here holds any other notion; I hopeit for his own sake!--until we are relieved, we're going to hold it!Moreover, this command is going to be a real command, from now on. It'sgoing to buck up. I'm going to put some ginger in it. There are threedead men here to be avenged, and I'm going to avenge 'em, or make youdo it! And if any man imagines he's going to help himself by feelingafraid, let me assure him that the only thing he needs to fear is me!I've a right to command men--I know how--I intend to do it. And if I'vegot to make men first out of whey-faced cowards, why, I'm game to do it, and this is just where I begin! Now! Anybody got a word to say?"

There was grim silence. 

"Good! I'll assume, then, until I'm contradicted, that you're all bravemen. Into the guardroom with you!"

"Sahib! Sahib!" said a voice beside him. 

"Well? What?"

It was the Beluchi interpreter who had carried the lamp for him thatevening when he arrested the fakir. 

"Run, sahib! It is time to run away!"

"Go on, then! Why don't you run?"

"I am afraid, sahib. "

"Of what?"

"Of the men who slew the soldiers. Sahib! Remember what the fakir said. You will be pegged out on an anthill, sahib, when you have been beaten. Run, while there is yet time!"

"Did you see them kill my men?"

"Nay, sahib!"

"How was that?"

"I ran away and hid, sahib. "

"How many were there?"

"Very many. The Punjabi skin-buyer brought them. "

"He did, did he? Very well! Did he go off with the fakir?"

"I think he did. I did not see. "

"Well, we'll suppose he did, then. And when the day breaks; we'llsuppose that we can find him, and we'll go in search of him, and Iwouldn't like to be that Punjabi when I do find him! Get into theguard-room, and wait in there until I give you leave to stir. "

IV. 

An Indian city that has yet to have its mysterie's laid bare andbanished by electric light is a stage deliberately set for massacre. Thebazaars run criss-crosswise; any way at all save parallel, and anyhowbut straight. Between them lies always a maze of passages, and alleys, deep sided, narrow, overhung by trellised windows and loopholed wallsand guarded stairways. 

For every square inch where the sun can shine there are a hundred wherea man could hide unseen. Through century piled on suspicious century, nodesigner, no architect, no builder has neglected to provide a means ofsecret ingress, and still more secret egress, to each new house. And thenewest house is built on secret passages that hid conspirators againstthe kings of men who lived before the oldest house was thought of. 

After the Mutiny of '57 came broader roads--so that a cannon might betrained along them. 

But in '57, Jailpore was a nest of winding alley-ways and blind batand rat holes, where weird smells and strange unlisted poisons andprophecies were born. In its midst, tight-packed in a roaring babel-dinof many-colored markets, stood a stone-walled palace, built once by aHindu king to commemorate a victory over Moslems, added to by a MoslemNizam, to celebrate his conquest of the Hindus and added to once againby the Honorable East India Company, to make a suitable barracks for itsnative troops. 

From the rat-infested slums, from the hot shadows and the mazyback-bazaars, from temples, store-houses, shops, and from thesin-steeped underworld, there screamed and surged and swept themany-graded, many-minded polyglot rebellion-spume. A quarter of amillion underdogs had turned against their masters. A hundred factionsand as many more religions, all had one common end in view--to loot. Allwere agreed on one thing--that the first stage of the game must be toturn Jailpore and, after Jailpore, India, into a charnel-house. 

Around and around the burning palace the mob screamed and sweptuncontrolled. Moslem looted Hindu, and Hindu Moslem. Armed sepoys, with the blood of their British officers fresh-soaked on their Britishuniforms, and the unspent pay of "John Company" still jingling in theirpockets, danced weird, wild devil-dances through the streets, clearingtheir way, when they saw fit, with cold steel or wanton volleys. Womenscreamed. Caste looted caste. Loose horses galloped madly through thestreets. Here and there a pitched battle raged, where a merchant who hadwealth had also courage, and apprentices and friends to help him defendhis store. 

And through all the din and clamor, under and above the howling andthe volleys and the roar of flames, sounded the steady thumping ofthe sacred war-drums. The whole sky glowed red. The Indian night wasscorched and smoked and lit by arson. Hell screamed with the cooking ofred mutiny, and throbbed with the thunder of the sacred temple-drums. And that was only one of the hells, and a small one. India glowed redthat night from end to end!

Juggut Khan, free-lance Rajput and gentleman of fortune, had ridden outof that caldron of Jailpore. His house was a heap of glowing ashes, andhis goods were tossed for and distributed among a company. But his marklay indelibly impressed upon the town. There were three European womenand a child who were nowhere to be found; and there was a trail that ledfrom somewhere near the palace to the western gate. It was a red trail. 

In one spot lay a sepoy pierced through by a lance, and with half of thelance-shaft still standing upright in him. That had been bad art--sheerplaying to the gallery! Juggut Khan had run him through and tried tolift him on the lance-end for a trophy. It was luck that saved the dayfor him that time, not swordsmanship. 

But a man who has done what he had done that day may be forgiven. Therelay nine other men behind him where his lance was left, and each of themlay face upward with a round red hole in his anatomy where the lance hadentered. 

And from the point where he had broken his lance and left it, up towhere a self-appointed guard had refused at first to open the city gatefor him, there was a trail that did honor to the man who taught himswordsmanship. One man lay headless, and another's head was only part ofhim, because the sword had split it down the middle and the two halveswere still joined together at the neck. 

There were men who claimed afterward that of the twenty-three who laybetween his lance-shaft and the city gate, some five or six had beenslain in brawls and looting forays. And Juggut Khan was never knownto discuss the matter. But the fact remains that every man of them waskilled by the blade or point of a cavalry-saber, and that Juggut Khanbroke out of the place untouched. 

And another fact worthy of record is, that underneath a stone floor, ina building that was partly powder-magazine-surrounded at every end andside by mutineers who searched for them, and very nearly stifled by thedust of decaying ages--there lay three women and a child, with a jar ofwater close beside them and a sack of hastily collected things to eat. They lay there in all but furnace-heat, close-huddled in the darkness, and they shuddered and sobbed and blessed Juggut Khan alternately. Below them the whispering echoes sighed mysteriously through a maze oftunnels. Around them, and around their sack of food, the rats scampered. Above them, where a ten-ton stone trapdoor lay closed over their heads, black powder stood in heaps and sacks and barrels. Closing the trapdoorhad been easy. One pushed it and it fell. Not all the mutineers inJailpore nor Juggut Khan nor any one could open it again without thesecret. And no man living knew the secret. The three women and the childwere safe from immediate intrusion!

Those three women and that child were not so exceptionally placed forIndia, of that date. Two of the women had seen their husbands slainthat afternoon, before their eyes. They were mother and daughter andgrandson; and the fourth was an English nurse, red-cheeked still fromthe kiss of English Channel breezes. 

"If only Bill were here!" the nurse wailed. "I know he'd find a way out. There wasn't never nothing nowhere that beat Bill. Bill wouldn'tha' left us! Bill'd ha' took us out o' here, an' saved our lives. Bill--snnff, snnff--Bill wouldn't ha'--snnff, snnff--shoved us in arat-hole and took hisself off!"

She had not yet lost her English point of view. She still believed thatthe strong right arm of an English lover could play ducks and drakeswith Destiny. One-half of the world, at least, still swears that shewas wrong, and her mistress and the other woman thought her despicable, ridiculous, unenlightened. It was a hardship to them, to be endured withdignity and patience, but none the less a hardship, that they should beleft and should have to die with this woman of the Ranks Below to keepthem company. She was an honest woman, or they would never have engagedher and paid her passage all the way to India. But she was not of theirjat, and she was a fool. It happens, however, that her point of viewsaved England for the English, and that the other point of view hadbrought England to the brink of utter ruin. 

"If you'd leave off talking about your truly tiresome lover, and wouldpray to God, Jane, " said Mrs. Leslie, "the rest of us might have achance to pray to God too! This isn't the time, let me tell you, to bethinking of carnal love-affairs. Recall your sins, one by one, and askforgiveness for them. "

In the gloom of the vault, poor Jane was quite invisible. The soundof her snuffling and sobs was the only clue to her direction. But herbridling was a thing that could be felt through the stuffy blackness, and there was a ring in her retort that gave the lie to the tears thatshe was shedding. 

"The only sin I ask forgiveness for, " she answered in a level voice, "ishaving let Bill come to India alone. Pray to God, is it? Go on! Pray!If Bill was here, he'd start on that stone door without no wordsnor argument, unless some one tried to stop him. Then there'd be anargument! And he'd get it open too. Bill's the kind that does hisprayin' afterward, and God helps men like Bill!"

"Well--I'm afraid that your Bill isn't here, and can't get here. So thebest thing that you can do is to pray and let us pray. "

"I'll pray for Bill!" said Jane defiantly. "Bill don't know that I'm inIndia, and he surely doesn't know I'm here. But if he knew--Oh, God! Lethim know! Tell him! He'd come so quick. He'd--snnff, snnff--he'd--why, he'd ha' been here long ago! Dear God, tell Bill I'm here, that's all!"

V. 

General Baines was in a position to be envied. No soldier worthy of hissalt is other than elated at the thought of war. Now for the provingof his theories. Now for the fruit of all his tireless preaching andinspection and preparing--the planned, pegged-out swoop to victory!

He knew--as few men in India knew--the length and the breadth of whatwas coming. And when two of his non-commissioned officers sent in wordthat the whole country was ablaze, he realized, as few other men didin that minute, that this was no local outbreak. The long-threatenedholocaust had come, and he had to act, to smite, to strike sure andswift at the festering root of things, or Central India was lost. 

But his hands were tied still. He knew. He could see. He could feel. He could hear. But he had his orders. That very morning they had beenrepeated to him, and with emphasis. In a letter from the Council he hadbeen told that "slight disturbances, of a purely local character, werenot without the bounds of possibility, due partly to religious unrestand partly to local causes. Under no circumstances were any extendedreprisals to be undertaken until further orders, and generals commandingdistricts were required to keep the bulk of their commands withincantonments. "

The countryside was up. All India probably was up. His own men, set byhimself to watch with one definite idea, had confirmed his worst fears. And he was under orders to stay with the bulk of his command in Bholat!Corked up in cantonments, with three thousand first-class fighting-mensquealing for trouble, and red rebellion running riot all around himthough it might be quelled by instant action!

And then worse happened. Juggut Khan clattered in to Bholat, spurringa horse that was so spent it could barely keep its feet. It fell in awoeful heap outside the general's quarters, and Juggut Khan--all but asweary as the horse--swung himself free, staggered past the sentry at thedoor and rapped with his hilt on the tough teak panel. They had to givehim brandy and feed him before he could summon strength enough to tellwhat he had seen and heard and done. 

"And Brown stayed on at the crossroads?"

"Aye, General sahib! He stayed!"

The general sat back and drummed his heels together on the floor in away that his aides had come to recognize as meaning trouble. 

"You say that all of the European officers in Jailpore have beenkilled?"

"I did not count. I did not even know them all by mine or sight. Ithink, though, that all were killed. I heard men among the mutineersdeclare that all had been accounted for, save only three women and achild, and me. Those four I myself had hidden, and as for myself--I toowas accounted for, and not without credit to the Raj for whom I fight!"

"I believe you, Juggut Khan! Did you have to cut your way out?"

The Rajput smiled. 

"There was a message to deliver, sahib! What would you? Should I havewaited while they arrested me?"

"Oh! You managed to evade them, did you?"

"At least I am here, sahib!"

The general chewed at his mustache, leaned his chair back against thewall and tapped at his boot with a riding-cane. 

"Tell me, Juggut Khan, " he said after another minute's thought, "whatis your idea? Is this sporadic? Is this a local outbreak? Will this diedown, if left to burn itself out?"

The Rajput laughed aloud. 

"'Sporadic, "' he answered, "is a word of which I have yet to learnthe meaning. If 'sporadic' means rebellion from Peshawur to CapeCormorin--revolution, rape, massacre, arson, high treason, torture, death to every European and every half-breed and every loyal nativenorth, south, east and west--then, yes, General sahib, 'sporadic' wouldbe the proper word. If your Honor should mean less than that, then someother word is needed!"

"Then you confirm my own opinion. You are inclined to think that this isan organized and country-wide rebellion?"

"I know of what I speak, sahib!"

"You don't think that you are being influenced in your opinion by thefact that you have seen a massacre, and have lost everything you had?"

"Nay, sahib! This is no hour for joking, or for bearing of falsetidings. I tell you, up, sahib! Boots and saddles! Strike!"

The general chewed at his mustache another minute. 

"You know this province well?" he asked. 

"None better than I. I have traversed every yard of it, attending to mybusiness. "

"And your business is?"

"Each to his trade, sahib. My trade is honorable. "

"I have good reasons for asking, and no impertinence is meant. Begood enough to tell me. I wish to know what value I may place on youropinion. "

"Sahib, I am a full sergeant of the Rajput Horse retired. I bear onemedal. "

"And--"

"I sell charms, sahib. "

"What sort of charms?"

"All sorts. But principally charms against the evil eye, and the redsickness, and death by violence. But, also love-charms now and then, and now and then a death-charm to a man who has an enemy and lacksswordsmanship or courage. I trade with each and every man, sahib, andlisten to the talk of each, and hold my tongue!"

"Strange trade for a soldier, isn't it?"

"Would you have me a robber, sahib? Or shall I sweep the streets--I, whohave led a troop before now? Nay, sahib! A soldier can fight, and can dolittle else. When the day comes that the Raj has no more need of him--orthinks that it has no more need of him--he must either starve or becomea prophet. And his own home is no place for a prophet who would turn hisprophesying into silver coin!"

"Ah! Well-now, tell me! What is your opinion, without reference to whatanybody else may think? You have just seen the massacre at Jailpore, and you know how many men I have here. And you know the condition ofthe road and the number of the mutineers. Would you, if you were in myplace, strike at Jailpore immediately?"

"Nay, sahib. That I would not. I would strike north. And I would strikeso swiftly that the mutineers would wonder whence I came. In Jailpore, all is over. They have done the harm, and they are in charge there. Theyhave the powder-magazine in their possession, and the stands of arms, and the first advantage. Leave them there, then, sahib, and strike whereyou are not expected. In Jailpore you would be out of touch. You wouldhave just that many more miles to march when the time comes--and it hascome, sahib!--to join forces with the next command, and hit hard at theheart of things. "

"And the heart of things is--"

"Delhi!"

"You display a quite amazing knowledge of the game. "

"I am a soldier, sahib!"

"You would leave Jailpore, then, to its fate?"

"Jailpore has already met its fate, sahib. The barracks are afire, andthe city has been given over to be looted. Reckon no more with Jailpore!Reckon only of the others. Listen, sahib! Has any message come from thenext command? No? Then why? Think you that even a local outbreak couldoccur without some message being sent to you, and to the next divisionsouth of you? Why has no message come? Where is the next command? Thenext command north? Harumpore? Then why is there no news from Harumpore?I will tell you, sahib. "

"You mean, I suppose, that the country is up, in between?"

"You know that it is up, sahib!"

"You think that no message could get through to me?"

"I know that it could not! Else had one already come. My advice to you, sahib, as one soldier to another and tendered with all respect, is toup and leave this Bholat. Here, of what use are you? Here you can hold asmall city, until the countryside has time to rise and lay siege to youand hem you in! Outside of here, you can be a hornet-storm! They willburn Bholat behind you. Let them! Let them, too, pay the price. Swoopdown on Harumpore, sahib--join there with Kendrick sahib's command. There make a fresh plan, and swoop down on some other place. But move, quickly, and keep on moving! And waste no time on places that arealready lost. "

"Then you would have me leave those women and that child, that you tellme of to their fate?"

"Nay, sahib! I am not of your command. I have done my duty to the Raj, and I now go about my own business. "

"And that is?"

"To repay a debt that I owe the Raj, sahib!"

"Your answers are rather unnecessarily evasive, Juggut Khan. Be goodenough to explain yourself!"

"I ride back to Jailpore, sahib. I would have stayed there, but itseemed right and soldierly to bring through the news first. Now, Ireturn to do what I may to rescue those whom I hid there. I owe that tothe Raj!"

"You mean that you will ride alone?"

"At least half of the distance, sahib. I had a favor to ask. "

"Well?"

"Are you marching north, sahib?"

"I have not determined yet. "

"Determined, sahib! This is no hour for dallying! Give orders now! Up!Strike, sahib! Listen! Should you march on Jailpore, the mutineers, whofar outnumber you, will learn beforehand of your coming, and will putthe place in a state of defense. It may take you weeks to fight your wayin! Leave Jailpore, and those who are left in it to me, and lend me thatnon-commissioned officer of yours who guards the crossroads, and histwelve men. With a few, we can manage what a whole division might failto do. And you march north, sahib, and burn and harry and slay! Strikequickly, where the trouble is yet brewing, and not where the day is lostalready!"

It was case of the British power in India on one side of the scale, against three women and a child on the other; sentiment in the balanceagainst strategy. And strategy must win, especially since this Rajputwas offering his services. 

"What are their names, you say?"

"Mrs. Leslie, wife of Captain Leslie; Mrs. Standish, wife of ColonelStandish and mother of Mrs. Leslie; Mrs. Leslie's child--I know not hisname, he is but a child in arms--and the child's nurse. "

The general still found it difficult to make up his mind. 

"What proof have I of you?" he asked. 

"Sahib, my honor is in question! I have a debt to pay!"

"What debt?"

"To the Raj. "

"To the Raj?"

"Aye, Sahib! I have but one son, and his life was saved for me by aBritish soldier. A life for a life. Four lives for a life. I ride! Ineed, though, a fresh horse. And I ask for the loan of that sergeant, and those twelve men. "

"I wonder whether a man such as you can realize exactly what it meansto us to know that white women are in Jailpore, at the mercy of blackmutineers? I mean, are you sufficiently aware of the extreme horror ofthe situation?"

"Knew you Captain Collins Sahib, of the Jailpore command?"

"Know him well. "

"Knew you his memsahib?"

"She was a niece of mine. "

"I slew her myself, with this sword!"

"When? Why?"

"Yesterday. Because her husband could not get to her himself, and sincehe and I knew each other, and he trusted me. I said to her, 'Memsahib! Ihave your husband's orders!' She asked me 'What orders, Juggut Khan?'I said, 'Why ask me, memsahib? Is my task easier, or yours?' She said'Obey your orders, Juggut Khan, and accept my thanks now, since I shallbe unable to thank you afterward!' And then she looked me bravely in theface, and met her death, sahib. Of a truth I know! I am to be trusted!"

"I believe you, Juggut Khan. And, incidentally, I beg your pardon forhaving doubted you. Have you slept?"

"Nay, Sahib. And I sleep not on this side of the crossroads!"

"I don't place Sergeant Brown under your command--you'll understandthat's impossible--but, it's quite impossible for him to catch me up. He may as well cooperate with you. Wait. " He paused, and wrote, thencontinued, "Here is a note to him, in which I order him to work withyou, and to take your advice whenever possible. Go to the stables, andchoose any horse you like except my first charger. Here--here is money;you may need some. Count that, will you. How much is it? Four hundredrupees? Write out a receipt for it. Now, good luck to you, Juggut Khan. And if you should get through alive--I'll pay you the compliment ofadmitting that you won't come through without the women, and I know thatBrown won't--if you should have luck, and should happen to get through, why, look for me at Harumpore, or elsewhere to the northward of it. Istart with my division in an hour. "

"Salaam, sahib!" said Rajput, rising and standing at the salute. 

"Salaam, Juggut Khan! Take any food, or drink, or clothing that youwant. Good-by, and your good luck ride with you. I feel like a murderer, but I know I've done the best that can be done!"

VI. 

Now if Sergeant Brown possessed a sweetheart, and the sweetheart livedin England, and if Brown still loved her--as has already been morethan hinted at--it is not at all unreasonable to wonder why he had nolikeness of her, no news of her, nothing but her memory around whichto weave the woof of sentiment--at least, it's not unreasonable so towonder in this late year of grace. 

Then, though, in 1857, when a newspaper cost threepence or thereabouts, and schools were so far from being free that only the sons of gentlemen(and seldom the daughters of even gentlemen, remember) attended them, the art of reading was not so common as it now is. Writing was stillmore uncommon. And it has not been pretended that Brown was other than acommoner. He was a stiff-backed man, and honest. And the pride that hadraised him to the rank of sergeant was even stiffer than his stock. Buthe came from the ranks that owned no vote, nor little else, in thosedays, and he owned a sweetheart of the same rank as himself, who couldneither read nor write. And when people whose somewhat primitive ideason right and wrong lead them to look on daguerreotypes as works of thedevil happen too to be living more than five thousand miles apart, whenone of the two can not write, nor readily afford the cost of postage, and when the other is nearly always on the move from post to post, it isnot exactly to be wondered at that memory of each other was all they hadto dwell upon. 

A journey to India in '57 meant, to the rank and file, oblivion andworse. There were men then, of course, just as there are now, who wouldleave a girl behind them tied fast by a promise of futile and endlessdevotion; men who knew what the girls did not know--that India was allbut inaccessible to any one outside of government employ, and that acommon soldier's chance of sending for his girl, or of coming homeagain to claim her, was something in the neighborhood of one in thirtythousand. 

But there were other men, like William Brown, who were a shade toohonest and too stiff-chinned to buckle under to the social conditionsof England in those days, and who were consequently not exactly pesteredwith offers of employment. And a man who could see the differencebetween doffing his ragged cap to a dissolute squire or parson, andsaluting his better on parade, could also see the selfishness of leavingan honest girl to languish for him. Brown could not get a living inEngland. So he told his girl to get a better man, swung his canvas bagacross his shoulder and marched away. 

"What kind of a man is a better man than Bill?" she had wondered. Menlike Bill seem to have a knack of judging character, and of pickinggirls who are as steadfast as themselves. So it is not to be wondered atthat almost before her tears were dry she had set about attempting whatfew women of her type and time would have dreamed of. If Bill had sether free, she reasoned, Bill had no more authority over her, and shemight do exactly what she chose. Bill could release, but he could notmake her take another man. So, for all that the local yeomen, and localtradesmen even, haunted the little cottage on the Downs, and pesteredher with their attentions, no one supplanted Bill. 

Bill could tell her--and had told her--that India was no country for awhite woman; that there were snakes there, and black men and tigers andeven worse. But, since he had set her free, if she could manage itshe was quite at liberty to brave the tigers and the snakes. And, oncethere, she would see whether she was free or not, and whether Bill was, either!

It took Bill Brown six years of constant honest effort to become asergeant. It took Jane Emmett six weeks of pride-consuming and vexatiousvigilance to procure for herself a job as nurse in a soldier-family. Andit took her six more years of unremitting diligence, sweetened by allthe attributes that seem desirable when nursing other people's childrenand embittered by the shame of grudging patronage, before she wasconsidered dependable enough to be recommended for the service of afamily just leaving for Bengal. Then, however, her world was a realworld again!

Five months on a sailing-ship around the Cape--deep-laden, gunwalesawash in a beam--on Bay-of-Biscay "snorer, " hove-to for a week off CapeAgul--has, while the clumsy brigantine rolled the masts loose in her, all but dismasted in a typhoon come astray from the China Sea, fed onmoldy bread, and even moldier pork, with a fretful child to nurse, andan exacting mother to be pleased! Jane Emmett laughed at it. Bill hadbeen there before her, and had done more on his way, and worse Bengaldid not frighten her. Nor did the knowledge, when she reached it, thatBill was very likely still some hundreds of miles away. She, who hadcome five thousand miles as the crows are said to fly and nine thousandby the map, could manage the odd hundreds. And she could wait. She hadwaited six long years. What was another month or two?

She had not even a notion where Bill was, beyond a vague one that hebelonged to another province. For when the Honorable East India Companywas muddling the affairs of India, the honors and emoluments andprivileges--such as they were!--were reserved for the benefit of thecommissioned ranks. 

So a transfer to Jailpore did not mean to Jane Emmett ten extra degreesof heat, the neighborhood of jungle-fever and a brand-new breed ofsmells. Those disadvantages, which weighted down the souls of heremployers, were completely overshadowed, so far as she was concerned, bythe knowledge that she was traveling nearer by a hundred leagues or soto where her Bill was stationed. She was going west; and somewhereto the west was Bill. Anything was good--fever, and prickly heat, andsmells included--that brought her any nearer him. 

There would be no sense in endeavoring to analyze her sensations whenthe sudden outburst overwhelmed the inner-guard at Jailpore. The sightof white women being butchered, and of white men with the blood of theirown women on their hands, selling their lives as dearly as the Godof War would let them in a holocaust of flames, blinded her. It wasprobably just a splurge of fire and noise and smoke and blood in hermemory, with one or two details standing out. The only real sensationthat she felt--even when a tall, lean Rajput flung her across hisshoulder, ran with her and dropped her down through a square hole intostifling darkness--was a longing for Bill Brown, her Bill, the one manin the world who could surely stop the butchery. 

The others prayed. But she refused to pray. She felt angry--notprayerful! Had she come nine thousand miles, and sacrificed six goodyears of youth and youth's heritage, to be cast into a reeking dungeonand left to die there in the dark? Not if Bill should know of it! Andso she changed her argument, and prayed for Bill. If only Billknew--straight-backed, honest, stiff-chinned, uncompromising, plain BillBrown. He would change things!

"Oh, Bill! Bill! Bill!" she sobbed. "Dear God, bring Bill to me!"

VII. 

When a man knows what is out against him, and from which direction hemay look to meet death, he only needs to be a very ordinary man tomake at least a gallant showing. Gallery or no gallery to watch, givenresponsibility and trained men under hire, not one man in a thousandwill fail to face death with dignity. 

But Brown knew practically nothing, and understood still less, of whatwas happening. He had Juggut Khan's word for it that Jailpore was inflames, and that all save four of its European population had beenkilled. He believed that to be a probably exaggerated statement ofaffairs, but he did not blink the fact that he might expect to beoverwhelmed almost without notice, and at any minute. That was a factwhich he accepted, for the sake of argument and as a working-basis onwhich to build a plan of some kind--His orders were to hold that post, and he would hold it until relieved by General Baines or death. Butthere are several ways of holding a hot coal besides the rather obviousone of sitting on it. 

It would have been a fine chance to be theatrical, had play-acting beenin his line. Many and many a full-blown general has risen to authorityand fame by means of absolutely useless gallery-play. He believed thathe would presently be relieved by General Baines, who he felt sure wouldmarch at once on Jailpore; and had he chosen to he could have addressedthe men, have set them to throwing up defenses and have made a nicetheatrical redoubt that he could have held quite easily with the helpof nine men for a day or two. And since the really worthwhile things gooften unrewarded, but the gallery-plays never, nobody would have blamedhim had he chosen some such course as that. 

But Brown's idea of holding down a place was to make that place a thornin the side of the enemy. And since he did not know who was the enemy, or where he was, nor why he was an enemy, nor when he would attack, heproposed to find out these things for himself preparatory to making thesaid enemy as uncomfortable as his meager resources would permit, wheneked out by an honest "dogged-does-it" brain. 

He buried the three men whom Fate had seemed to value at the price of afakir's freedom. And, being a religious man, to whom religion was a factand the rest of the universe a theory, he was able to say a full funeralservice over them from memory. He said it at the grave-end, with alantern in his hand and one man facing him across the grave--as theEnglish used to drink when the Danes had landed, each watching for theglint of steel beyond the other's shoulder. 

And, four on each side of the trench that they had dug, the remainderknelt and faced the night each way--partly from enforced piety, andpartly because eight men back to back, with their bayonets outwardand their butts against their knees, are an awkward proposition for anenemy. They mumbled the responses because Brown made them do it, andthey kept their eyes skinned because the night seemed full of othereyes, and sounds. 

"And now, you men, " said Brown, changing his voice to suit the nature ofhis task, "you can get your sleep by fours. I don't care which four ofyou goes to sleep first, but there are only two watches of us left, andthere are about four hours left to sleep in, by my reckoning. That's twohours' sleep for each man. And we'll keep clear of the guardroom. AsI understand my orders, the important point's the cross-roads. I'msupposed to halt every one who comes, and to ask him his business. Andthat'd be impossible to do from the guardroom here. Let this be a lessonto you men, now. In interpretin' orders, when a point's in doubt, alwayslook for the meaning of the orders rather than the letter of them, obeying the letter only when the meaning and the letter are the samething. The letter of our orders says the guardroom. The meaning's clear. We're here to guard the cross-roads. We take the meaning, and let theletter hang!

"Besides! The way it seems to me, if there's any more trouble cookingin this neighborhood, it's going to cook pretty fast, and it's goingto boil around that guardroom; and if we're not in the guardroom, why, that's point number one for us! Leave the guardroom lantern lighted, andbring out nothing but your cartridge-pouches and the box of ammunition. Leave everything else where it lies. Quick, now. "

They obeyed him on the run, afraid to be out of his sight for a momenteven, trusting him as little children trust a nurse, and ready to doanything so long as he would only keep them up and doing, and not makethem stay by the scene of the murders. Brown knew their state of mindas accurately as he knew the range of their service rifles, and he knewjust how he could best keep panic from them. He knew too, if not whatwas best to do, at least what he intended doing, and he knew how hecould best get them in a state to do it. 

Behind his own mind lay all the while a sense of loneliness andhopelessness. He did not entertain the thought of failure to hold thecrossroads, and he was so certain that General Baines would come withhis division that he could almost see the advance-guard trotting towardhim down the trunk road. But there is no accounting for a soldier'smoods, and something told him--something deep down inside him that hecould neither name nor understand--that he was out now on the adventureof a lifetime, and that the heart-cord which had held him tight toEngland all these years had been cut. He felt gloomy and dispirited, butnot a man of the nine who followed him had the slightest inkling of it. 

He halted them outside the guardroom, and bullydamned two of thembecause some unimportant part of their accouterments was missing; andhe "'Tshuned" them, and stood them at ease, and "'Tshuned" them again, until he had them jumping at the word. Then he marched them two abreastin and out among the huts in search of any sign of native servants. Theyfound no sign of any one at all. Though in that black darkness it wouldhave been quite possible for half a hundred men to lie undetected. Browndecided that the camp was empty. He thought it probable that any oneconcealed there would have tried his luck on somebody at least, at closerange as he passed. 

So he marched them back to the guard-room once again, and sent twoof them in to drag out the shivering Beluchi, who had taken coverunderneath a cot and refused to come out until he was dragged out by theleg. The native's terror served to pull the men together quite a little, for Tommy Atkins always does and always did behave himself with pridewhen what he is pleased to consider his inferiors are anywhere about. They showed that unfortunate Beluchi how white men marched into thedarkness--best foot foremost; without halt or hesitation, when ghosts ormurderers or unseen marksmen were close at hand. 

The Beluchi let himself be dragged, trembling, between two of them. Itwas he who first saw something move, or heard some one breathe. For hewas absolutely on edge, and had nothing to attend to but his own fear. The others had to keep both eyes and ears lifting, to please Brown theexacting. The Beluchi struggled and held back, almost breaking loose, and actually tearing his loin-cloth. 

"Sahib!" he whispered hoarsely. "Sahib!"

"What is it?" demanded Brown, scarcely waiting for an answer, though. Something told him what it was that moved, and his own skin feltgoose-fleshy from neck to heel. 

"The fakir, sahib!"

There was a murmur through the ranks, a sibilant indrawing of thebreath. 

"Did I hear anybody swear?" asked Brown. 

Nobody answered him. All nine men stood stock-still, leaning on theirrifles, their heads craned forward and their eyes strained in thedirection of the gloomy baobab. 

"Form single rank!" commanded Brown. 

There was no response. They stood there fixed like a row of chickensstaring at a snake!

"Form single rank!"

He leaped at them, and broke the first rule of the service--as a man maywhen he is man enough, and the alternative would be black shame. 

His fist was a hard one and heavy, and they felt the weight of it. 

"Form single rank! Take one pace open order! Extend! Now, forward--bythe right! Right dress, there!"

He marched in front of them, and they followed him for very shame, nowthat he had broken their paralysis. 

"Halt! Port-arms! Charge bayonets!"

He was peering at something in the dark, something that chuckled andsmelled horrible, and sat unusually still for anything that lived. 

"Numbers One, Two, Three--left wheel--forward! Halt! Numbers Seven, Eight, Nine--right wheel--forward! Halt!"

They were standing now on three sides of a square. The fourth sidewas the trunk of the baobab. Between them and the trunk, the streamingtendrils swayed and swung, bats flitted and something still invisiblesat still and chuckled. 

"One pace forward--march!"

They could see now. The fakir sat and stared at them and grinned. Brownraised the lamp and let its rays fall on him. The light glinted off hiseyes, and off the only other part of him that shone--the long, curved, ghastly fingernails that had grown through the palm of his upstretchedhand. 

"How did you get here?" demanded Brown, not afraid to speak, for fearthat fright would take possession of himself as well as of his men, butquite well aware that the fakir would not answer him. Then he rememberedthe Beluchi. 

"Ask him, you! Ask him how he came here. "

The Beluchi found his tongue, and stammered out a question. The fakirchuckled, and following his chuckle let a guttural remark escape him. 

"He says, sahib, that he flew!"

"Ask him, could he fly with nine fixed bayonets in him!"

There was a little laughter from the men at that sally. It takesvery little in the way of humor to dispel a sense of the uncanny ormysterious. 

"He answers, sahib, that you have seen what comes of striking him. Heasks how many dead there be. "

"Does he want me to hold him answerable for those men's lives?"

"He says he cares not, sahib! He says that he has promised what shallbefall you, sahib, before a day is past--you and one other!"

"Ask him, where is the Punjabi skin-buyer?"

The fakir chuckled at that question, and let out suddenly a long, low, hollow-sounding howl, like a she-wolf's just at sundown. He was answeredby another howl from near the guardroom, and every soldier faced aboutas though a wasp had stung him. 

"Front!" commanded Brown. "Now, one of you, about turn! Keep watch thatway! Is that the Punjabi?--ask him. "

"He says 'Yes!' sahib. He and others!"

"Very well. Now tell him that unless he obeys my orders on the jump, word for word as I give them, I'll hang him as high as Haman bythat withered arm of his, and have him beaten on the toenails witha cleaning-rod before I fill him so full of bayonet-holes that thevultures'll take him for a sponge! Say I'm a man of my word, and don'texaggerate. "

The Beluchi translated. 

"He says you dare not, sahib!"

"Advise him to talk sense. "

"He says, sahib, 'You have had one lesson!"'

"Now it's my turn to give him one. Men! We'll have to give up thatsleep I talked about. This limping dummy of a fakir thinks he's got usfrightened, and we've got to teach him different. There's some reasonwhy we're not being attacked as yet. There's something fishy going on, and this swab's at the bottom of it! We want him, too, on a charge ofmurder, or instigating murder, and the guardroom's the best place forhim. To the guardroom with him. He'll do for a hostage anyhow. And wherehe is, I've a notion that the control of this treachery won't befar away! Grab him below the arms and by the legs. One of you holda bayonet-point against his ribs. The rest, face each way on guard. Now--all together, forward to the guardroom--march!"

The fakir howled. Ululating howls replied from the surrounding night, and once a red light showed for a second and disappeared in front ofthem. Then the fakir howled again. 

"Look, sahib! See! The guardroom!"

It was the Beluchi who saw it first--the one who was most afraid ofthings in general and the least afraid of Sergeant Brown. A little flamehad started in the thatch. 

"Halt!" ordered Brown. "Two of you hold the fakir! Theremainder--volley-firing--kneeling--point-blank-range. Ready--as youwere--independent firing--ready! Now, wait till you see 'em in thefirelight, then blaze away all you like!"

His last words were cut off short by the sound of rifle-fire. Each riflein turn barked out, and three rifles answered from the night. 

"Let that fakir feel a bayonet-point, somebody!"

The fakir cursed between his teeth, in proof of prompt obedience by oneof the men who held him. 

"Tell him to order his crowd to cease fire!"

The Beluchi translated, and the fakir howled again. The flames leapedthrough the thatch, and in a minute more the countryside was lit forhalf a mile or more by the glare of the burning guardroom. 

The flames betrayed more than a hundred turbaned men, who hugged theshadows. 

"Keep that bayonet-point against his ribs. See? That comes o' movinginstead o' sitting still! If we'd shut ourselves in the guardroom there, we'd have been merrily roasting in there now! We stole a march on them. Beauty here was sitting on his throne to see the fun. Didn't expect us. Thought we'd be all hiding under the beds, like Sidiki here! Goes toprove the worst thing that a soldier can do is to sit still when there'strouble. We're better off than ever. We're free and they won't dare domuch to us as long as we've got Sacred-Smells-and-Stinks in charge. Formup round him, men, and keep your eyes skinned till morning!"

VIII. 

Of course, discussing matters in the light of history, with full andintimate knowledge of everything that had a bearing on the Mutiny, thereare plenty of club-armchair critics who maintain that England could notdo otherwise than win in '57. They always do say that afterward of theside that won the day. 

But then, with history yet to make, things looked very different, andnobody pretended that there was any certainty of anything except avictory for the mutineers. All that either side recognized as likely toreverse conditions was the notorious ability that a beaten and corneredBritish army has for upsetting certainties. So the rebels had morethan a little argument as to what steps should be taken next, once theinitial butchery and loot had taken place. 

For instance, in Jailpore

More than a hundred fakirs and wandering priests and mendicants hadsent in word that the province from end to end was ready, and that theBritish slept. But there were those in Jailpore who distrusted fakirsand religious votaries of every kind. They believed them fully capableof rousing the countryside, of working on the religious feelings of theunsophisticated rustics and setting them to murdering and plunderingright and left. But they doubted their ability to judge of the army'ssleepiness. These doubters were the older men, who had had experienceof England's craft in war. They knew of the ability of some at least ofEngland's generals to match guile against guile, and back up guile withswift, unexpected hammer-strokes. 

There were men who claimed that what had happened in Jailpore would berepeated in Bholat and elsewhere. There was no need, these maintained, to march and join hands with other rebels. Each unit was sufficient toitself. Each city would be a British funeral pyre. Why march?

Some said, "The general at Bholat will learn of the massacre, and willlearn too, that not quite all were killed. He will come hotfoot to findthe four we could not find. For these British are as cobras; slay thehe cobra and the she one comes to seek revenge. Slay the she one andbeware! Her husband will track thee down, and strike thee. They are notordinary folk!"

There were other factions that maintained that General Baines was strongenough, with his three thousand, to hold Bholat, unless the men ofJailpore marched, to join hands with the Bholatis--who were surely inrevolt by this time. There were others who declared that he would leaveBholat and Jailpore to their fates without any doubt at all, and wouldmarch to join hands with the nearest contingent, at Harumpore. 

The bolder spirits of this latter faction were for setting off at onceto prevent this combination. For a little while their arguments almostprevailed. 

But another faction yet, and an even more numerous one, insisted it werebest to wait for news from other centers. 

Why march, they argued, why strike, why run unnecessary risks, beforethey knew what was happening elsewhere?

"Surely, " these argued, "the English will hear that four here are stillunaccounted for. Some attempt will be made to find and rescue them. Butif we find and slay them, and send their heads to Bholat, then will theEnglish know that they are indeed dead. Then there will be no attempt atrescue, and we shall hold Jailpore unmolested as headquarters. "

That piece of logic won the day for a while, and parties were made upto explore the place, and search in every nook and cranny for the threewomen. And a child who surely had not passed out through any of thegates, and who were therefore just as surely in the city. A reward wasoffered by the committee of rebel-leaders and, although nobody believedthat the reward would actually be paid, the opportunities for lootingprivately while searching were so great that the search was thorough. 

It failed, though, for the very simple reason that nobody suspected thatthe huge stone trap-door in the floor of the powder-magazine had everbeen opened, or ever could be opened. The magazine had been a whiteman's watch. White men had kept guard over it for more than a hundredyears, and the natives had forgotten that a maze of tunnels and cavernslay beneath it. 

So, while bayonet-points and swords were pushed into crevices, whilesmoke was sent down passages and tunnels and great, loose-limbed, slobbering hounds were led on the leash and cast to find a trail, thethree women and the child lay still beneath the piled-up powder, and doled out water, and biscuit in siege-time measures. They lay inpitch-darkness, in a vault where not even a sound could reach them, except the whispered echo of their own voices and the scampering ofthe rats. They were growing nearly blind, and nearly crazed, with thedarkness and the silence and the fear. 

Every second they expected to see daylight through the cracks above, asrebels levered up the door, or to hear feet and voices coming throughthe vaults below, for doubtless the vaults led somewhere. But for theirfear of snakes and rats and unknown horrors, they would have tried tofind a way through the vaults themselves. But as each movement that theymade, and each word that they spoke, sent echoes reverberating throughthe gloom, they lay still and shuddered. 

Once they heard footsteps on the stone flags overhead. But the footstepswent away again, and then all was still. Soon they lost all count oftime. They were only aware of heat and discomfort and fear and utterweariness. 

One woman and an infant wept. One woman prayed aloud incessantly. Thethird woman--the menial, the worst educated and least enlightened ofthe three, according to the others' notion of it--stubbornly refused toadmit that there was not some human means of rescue. 

"If Bill were here, " she kept on grumbling, "Bill'd find a way!"

And in the darkness that surrounded her she felt that she could seeBill's face, as she remembered it--red-cheeked and clean-shaven--sixyears or more ago. 

IX. 

The blazing roof of the guardroom lit up even the crossroads for awhile, and Brown and his men could see that for the present there was agood wide open space between them and the enemy. The firelight showed atree not far from the crossroads, and since anything is cover to men whoare surrounded and outnumbered, they made for that tree with one accord, and without a word from Brown. 

"We've all the luck, " said Brown. "There's not a detachment of any otherarmy in the world would walk straight on to a find like this!"

He held up one frayed end of a manila rope, that was wound around thetree-trunk. Some tethered ox had rendered them that service. 

"Fifty feet of good manila, and a fakir that needs hanging! Anybody seethe connection?"

There was a chorus of ready laughter, and the two men who had theunenviable task of carrying the fakir picked him up and tossed him tothe tree-trunk. The roof of the guardhouse was blazing fiercely, and nowthey had fired the other roofs. The fakir, the tree and the little bunchof men who held him prisoner were as plainly visible as though it hadbeen daytime. A bullet pinged past Brown's ear, and buried itself in thetree-trunk with a thud. 

"Let him feel that bayonet again!" said Brown. 

A rifleman obeyed, and the fakir howled aloud. An answering howl fromsomewhere beyond the dancing shadows told that the fakir had beenunderstood. 

"And now, " said Brown, paraphrasing the well-remembered wording of thedrill-book, in another effort to get his men to laughing again, "whenhanging a fakir by numbers--at the word one, place the noose smartlyround the fakir's neck. At the word two, the right-hand man takes thebight of the rope in the hollow of his left hand, and climbs the tree, waiting on the first branch suitable for the last sound of the wordthree. At the last sound of the word three, he slips the rope smartlyover the bough of the tree and descends smartly to the ground, landingon the balls of his feet and coming to attention. At the word four, theremainder seize the loose end of the rope, being careful to hold it insuch a way that the fakir has a chance to breathe. And at the lastsound of the word five, you haul all together, lifting the fakir off theground, and keeping him so until ordered to release. Now--one!"

He had tied a noose while he was speaking, and the fakir had watched himwith eyes that blazed with hate. A soldier seized the noose, and slippedit over the fakir's head. 

"Two!"

The tree was an easy one to climb. "Two" and "three" were the work ofnot more than a minute. 

"Four!" commanded Brown, and the rope drew tight across the bough. Thefakir had to strain his chin upward in order to draw his breath. 

"Steady, now!"

The men were lined out in single file, each with his two hands on therope. Not half of them were really needed to lift such a wizened load asthe fakir, but Brown was doing nothing without thought, and wasting notan effort. He wanted each man to be occupied, and even amused. He wantedthe audience, whom he could not see, but who he knew were all around himin the shadows, to get a full view of what was happening. They mightnot have seen so clearly, had he allowed one-half of the men to belookers-on. 

"Steady!" he repeated. "Be sure and let him breathe, until I give theword. " Then he seized the cowering Beluchi by the neck, and dragged himup close beside the fakir. "Translate, you!" he ordered. "To the crowdout yonder first. Shout to 'em, and be careful to make no mistakes. "

"Speak, then, sahib! What shall I say?"

"Say this. This most sacred person here is our prisoner. He will die themoment any one attempts to rescue him. "

The Beluchi translated, and repeated word for word. 

"I will now talk with him, and he himself will talk with you, and thuswe will come to an arrangement!"'

There was a commotion in the shadows, and somewhere in the neighborhoodof fifty men appeared, keeping at a safe distance still, but evidentlyanxious to get nearer. 

"Now talk to the fakir, and not so loudly! Ask him 'Are you a sacredperson?' Ask him softly, now!"

"He says 'Yes, ' sahib, 'I am sacred!"'

"Do you want to die?"

"All men must die!"

The answer made an opening for an interminable discussion, of the kindthat fakirs and their kindred love. But Brown was not bent just then ondissertation. He changed his tactics. 

"Do you want to die, a little slowly, before all those obedientworshipers of yours, and in such a way that they will see and understandthat you can not help yourself, and therefore are a fraud?"

The Beluchi repeated the question in the guttural tongue that apparentlythe fakir best understood. In the fitful light cast by the burningroofs, it was evident that the fakir had been touched in the one weakspot of his armor. 

There can scarcely be more than one reason why a man should torturehimself and starve himself and maim and desecrate and horribly defilehimself. At first sight, the reason sounds improbable, but considerationwill confirm it. It is vanity, of an iron-bound kind, that makes thewandering fakir. 

"Ask him again!" said Brown. 

But again the fakir did not answer. 

"Tell him that I'm going to let him save his face, provided he savesmine. Explain that I, too, have men who think I am something more thanhuman!"

The Beluchi interpreted, and Brown thought that the fakir's eyes gleamedwith something rather more than their ordinary baleful light. It mighthave been the dancing flames that lit them, but Brown thought he saw thedawn of reason. 

"Say that if I let my men kill him, my men will believe me superhuman, and his men will know that he is only a man with a withered arm!But tell him this: He's got the best chance he ever had to performa miracle, and have the whole of this province believe in himforevermore. "

Again the fakir's eyes took on a keener than usual glare, as he listenedto the Beluchi. He did not nod, though, and he made no other sign, beyond the involuntary evidence of understanding that his eyes betrayed. 

"His men can see that noose round his neck, tell him. And his men knowme, more or less, and British methods anyhow. They believe now, they'resure, they're positive that his neck's got about as much chance ofescaping from that noose as a blind cow has of running from a tiger. Nowthen! Tell him this. Let him come the heavy fakir all he likes. Tellhim to tell his gang that he's going to give an order. Let him tell themthat when he says 'Hookum hai!' my men'll loose his neck straight away, and fall down flat. Only, first of all he's got to tell them that heneeds us for the present. Let him say that he's got an extra-specialawful death in store for us by and by, and that he's going to keep usby him until he's ready to work the miracle. Meantime, nobody's to touchus, or come near us, except to bring him and us food!"

The fakir listened, and said nothing. At a sign from Brown the ropetightened just a little. The fakir raised his chin. 

"And tell him that, if he doesn't do what I say, and exactly what I say, and do it now, he's got just so long to live as it takes a man to chokehis soul out!"

The fakir answered nothing. 

"Just ever such a wee bit tighter, men!"

The fakir lost his balance, and had to scramble to his feet and standthere swaying on his heels, clutching at the rope above him with his oneuninjured hand, and sawing upward with his head for air. There came amurmur from the shadows, and a dozen breech-bolts clicked. There seemedno disposition to lie idle while the holiest thing in a temple-riddenprovince dangled in mid-air. 

"In case of a rush, " said Brown quietly, "all but two of you let go! Theremainder seize your rifles and fire independently. The two men on therope, haul taut, and make fast to the tree-trunk. This tree's as good aplace to die as anywhere, but he dies first! Understand?"

The fakir rolled his eyes, and tried to make some sort of signal withhis free arm. 

"Just a wee shade tighter!" ordered Brown. "I'm not sure, but I thinkhe's seeing reason!"

The fakir gurgled. No one but a native, and he a wise one, could haverecognized a meaning in the guttural gasp that he let escape him. 

"He says 'All right! sahib!'" translated the Beluchi. 

"Good!" said Brown. "Ease away on the rope; men! And now! You all heardwhat I told him. If he says 'Hookum hai!' you all let go the rope, andfall flat. But keep hold of your rifles!"

The fakir's voice, rose in a high-pitched, nasal wail, and from thedarkness all around them there came an answering murmur that was likethe whispering of wind through trees. By the sound, there must have beena crowd of more than a hundred there, and either the crowd was sneakingaround them to surround them at close quarters, or else the crowd wasgrowing. 

"Keep awake, men!" cautioned Brown. 

"Aye, aye, sir! All awake, sir!"

"Listen, now! And if he says one word except what I told him he mightsay, tip me the wink at once. "

Brown swung the Beluchi out in front of him where he could hear thefakir better. 

"I'll hang you, remember, after I've hanged him, if anything goeswrong!"

"He is saying, sahib, exactly what you said. "

"He'd better! Listen now! Listen carefully! Look out for tricks!"

The fakir paused a second from his high-pitched monologue, and a murmurfrom the darkness answered him. 

"Stand by to haul tight, you men!"

"All ready, sir!"

The rope tightened just a little--just sufficiently to keep the fakircognizant of its position. The fakir howled out a sort of singsongdirge, which plainly had imperatives in every line of it. At eachshort pause for breath he added something in an undertone that made theBeluchi strain his ears. 

"He says, sahib, that they understand. He says, 'Now is the time!' Hesays now he will order 'Hookum hai!' He says, 'Are you ready?' He says, sahib, --he says it, sahib, --not I--he says, 'Thou art a fool to starethus! Thou and thy men are fools! Stare, instead, as men who arebewitched!'"

"Try to look like boiled owls, to oblige his Highness, men!" said Brown. "Now, that's better; watch for the word! Easy on the rope a little!"

The men did their best to pose for the part of semimesmerized victimsof a superhuman power. The flame from the burning roofs was dying downalready, for the thatch burned fast, and the glowing gloom was deepenough to hide indifferent acting. With their lives at stake, though, men act better than they might at other times. 

The fakir spun round on his heels and, clutching with his whole hand atthe rope, began to execute a sort of dance--a weird, fantastic, horribleaffair of quivering limbs and rolling eyeballs, topped by a withered armthat pointed upward, and a tortured fingernail-pierced fist that noddedon a dried-out-wrist-joint. 

"Hookum hai!" he screamed suddenly, waving his sound hand upward, andbringing it down suddenly with a jerk, as though by sheer force he wasblasting them. 

"Down with you!" ordered Brown, and all except Brown and the Beluchitumbled over backward. 

"Keep hold of your rifles!" ordered Brown. 

The fakir's wailing continued for a while. With his own hand he took thenoose from his neck and, now that the flames had died away to nothingbut spasmodic spurts above a dull red underglow, there was no one inthe watching ring who could see Brown's sword-point. Only Brown andthe fakir knew that it was scratching at the skin between the fakir'sshoulder-blades. 

"It is done!" said the fakir presently. "Now take me back to my daisagain!" And the Beluchi translated. 

"I'd like to hear their trigger-springs released, " suggested Brown. "This has all been a shade too slick for me. I've got my doubts yetabout it's being done. Tell him to order them to uncock their rifles, sothat I can hear them do it. "

"He says that they are gone already!" translated the Beluchi. 

"Tell him I don't believe it!" answered Brown, whose eyes were strainingto pierce the darkness, which was blacker than the pit again by now. 

The fakir raised his voice into a howl--a long, low, ululating howl likethat he had uttered when they found him on his dais. From the distance, beyond the range of rifles, came a hundred answering howls. The fakirwaited, and a minute later a hundred howls were raised again, this timefrom an even greater distance. 

Then he spoke. 

"He says that they are gone, " translated the Beluchi. "He says he willgo back to his dais again. "

"'Tshun!" ordered Brown. "Now, men, just because we've saved our skinsso far is no reason why we should neglect precautions. We're going toput this imitation angel back on his throne again, so the same two carryhim that brought him here. There's no sense in giving two more men theitch, and all the other ailments the brute suffers from! Form up roundhim, the rest. Take open order--say two paces--and go slow. Feel yourway with your fixed bayonet, and don't take a step in the dark untilyou're sure where it will lead you. Forward-march! One of you bring thatrope along. "

The weird procession crawled and crept and sidled back to where it hadstarted from not so long before--jumping at every sound, and at everyshadow that showed deeper than the coal-black night around them. It tookthem fifteen minutes to recross a hundred yards. But when they reachedthe earthen throne again at last, and had hoisted the fakir back inposition on it, there had been no casualties, and the morale of the menin Sergeant Brown's command was as good again as the breech-mechanism ofthe rifles in his charge. 

They were scarcely visible to him or one another in the blackness, but he sensed the change in them, and changed his own tune to fit thechanged condition. 

His voice had nothing in it but the abrupt military explosion when hegave his orders now--no argument, no underlying sympathy. He was nolonger herding a flock of frightened children. He was ordering trained, grown men, and he knew it and they knew it. The orders ripped out, likethe crack of a drover's whip. 

"Fall in, now, properly! 'Tshun! Right dress! To two paces--openorder--from the center--extend! Now, then! Left and right wings--lastthree at each end forward--right wheel--halt. That's it. 'Bout face. Noweach man keep two eyes lifting till the morning. If anything shows up, or any of you hear a sound, shoot first and challenge afterward!"

They were standing so when the pale sun greeted them, in hollow square, with their backs toward the fakir, who was squatting, staring straightin front of him, on his dais, with his back turned to the tree and hiswithered arm still pointing up to heaven like a dead man's calling tothe gods for vengeance. 

A little later, Brown made each alternate man lie down and get whatsleep he could just where he was, with a comrade standing over him. Hehimself slept so for a little while. But one of the men heard somethingmove among the hanging tendrils of the baobab, investigated with hisbayonet-point, and managed to transfix a twelve-foot python. After thatthere was, not so much desire for sleep. The fakir either slept with hiseyes open or else dispensed with sleep. No one seemed able to determinewhich. 

When the day grew hotter, and the utterly remorseless Indian sunbore down on them, and on the aching desolation of the plain and theburnt-out guardhouse, the fakir still sat unblinking, gazing straightout in front of him, with eyes that hated but did nothing else. Heseemed to have no time nor thought nor care for anything but hate andthe expression of it. 

At noon, three little children came to him, and brought him water in asmall brass bowl, and cooked-up vegetables wrapped in some kind of leaf. Brown let him have theirs, and bribed the frightened children to go andbring water for the men and himself. He gave them the unheard-of wealthof one rupee between them, and they went off with it--and did not comeback. 

Meanwhile the fakir had drunk his water, and had poured out what wasleft. He had also eaten what the children had brought him, and suddenly, from vacant, implacable hatred, he woke up and began to be amused. 

"Ha-ha!" he laughed at them. "Ho-ho!" And then he launched out with astring of eloquence that Brown called on the Beluchi to translate. 

"Who said there would be thirst, and the sound of water! Is there athirst? Who spoke of an anthill and of hungry ants and raw red openingsin the flesh for the little ants to run in and out more easily?"

The Beluchi translated faithfully, and the men all listened. 

"Tell him to hold his tongue!" growled Brown at last. 

"Ha-ha! Ho-ho-ho!" laughed the fakir. "The heat grows great, and thetongues grow dry, and none bring water! Ho-ho! But I told them that Ineeded these for a deadlier death than any they devised! Ho-ho-ho-ho!Look at the little crows, how they wait in the branches! Ha-ha-ha-ha!See how the kites come! Where are the vultures? Wait! What speck sailsin the sky there? Even the vultures come! Ho-ho-ho-ho!"

"I hear a horse, sir!" said one of the men who watched. 

"I heard it more than a minute ago, " said Brown. 

The fakir stopped his mockery, and even he listened. 

"Ask him, " said Brown, "where are the men who set fire to theguardroom?"

"He says they are in the village, waiting till he sends for them!" saidthe Beluchi. 

"Keep an eye lifting, you men, " ordered Brown. "This'll be a messengerfrom Bholat, ten to one. Mind they don't ambush him! Watch every way atonce, and shoot at anything that moves!"

"Clippety-clippety-clippety-cloppety--"

The sound of a galloping horse grew nearer; a horse hard-ridden, thatwas none the less sure-footed still, and going strong in spite of sunand heat. Suddenly a foam-flecked black mare swung round a bend betweentwo banks, and the sun shone on a polished saber-hilt. A turbanedRajput rose in his stirrups, gazed left and right and then in front ofhim--from the burned-out guardhouse to the baobab--drew rein to a walkand waved his hand. 

"By all that's good and great and wonderful, " said Brown aloud, "ifhere's not Juggut Khan again!"

X. 

It is not easy to give any kind of real impression of India twenty-fourhours after the outbreak of the mutiny. Movement was the keynote ofthe picture--stealthy, not-yet-quite-confident pack-movement on the onehand, concentrated here and there in blood-red eddies, and, on the otherhand, swift, desperate marches in the open. 

The moment that the seriousness of the outbreak had been understood, andthe orders had gone out by galloper to "Get a move on!" each commandingofficer strained every nerve at once to strike where a blow wouldhave the most effect. There was no thought of anything but action, andoffensive, not defensive action. Until some one at the head of thingsproved still to be alive, and had had time to form a plan, eachdivisional commander acted as he saw fit. That was all that any one wasasked to do at first: to act, to strike, to plunge in headlong where themutiny was thickest and most dangerous, to do anything, in fact; exceptsit still. 

Even with the evidence of mutiny and treachery on every side, with redflames lighting the horizon and the stench of burning villages on everyhand, the strange Anglo-Saxon quality persisted that has done more eventhat the fighting-quality to teach the English tongue to half the world. The native servants who had not yet run away retained their placesstill, unquestioned. When an Englishman has once made up his mind totrust another man, he trusts him to the hilt, whatever shade of brown orred or white his hide may be. 

But, since every rule has its exceptions, there were some among thenative servants, who remained ostensibly loyal to their masters, whowould better have been shot or hanged at the first suggestion ofan outbreak. For naturally a man who is trusted wrongly is far moredangerous than one who is held in suspicion. But it never was theslightest use endeavoring to persuade an average English officer thathis own man could be anything but loyal. He may be a thief and a liarand a proved-up rogue in every other way; but as for fearing to let himsleep about the house, or fearing to let him cook his master's food, or fearing to let him carry firearms--well! Perhaps, it is conceit, ormaybe just ordinary foolishness. It is not fear!

So, in a country where the art of poisoning has baffled analysts sinceanalysts have been invented, and where blood-hungry fanatic priests, both Hindu and Mohammedan, were preaching and promising the rewardof highest heaven to all who could kill an Englishman or die in theattempt, a native cook whose antecedents were obscured in mystery cookeddinner for a British general, and marched with his column to perform thesame service while the general tried to trounce the cook's friends andrelatives!

But General Baines felt perfectly at ease about his food. He never gavea thought to it, but ate what was brought to him, sitting his horse mostlikely, and chewing something as he rode among the men, and saw thatthey filled their bellies properly. He had made up his mind to march onHarumpore, and to take over the five-hundred-strong contingent there. Then he could swoop down on any of a dozen other points, in any one ofwhich a blow would tell. 

He was handicapped by knowing almost too much. He had watched so long, and had suspected for so long that some sort of rebellion was brewingthat, now that it had come, his brain was busy with the tail-ends ofa hundred scraps of plans. He was so busy wondering what might behappening to all the other men subordinate to him, who would have to beacting on their own initiative, that his own plans lacked something ofdirectness. But there was no lack of decision, and no time was lost. Themen marched, and marched their swiftest, in the dust-laden Indian heat. And he marched with them, in among them, and ate what the cook broughthim, without a thought but for the best interests of the government heserved. 

So they buried General Baines some eighty-and-twenty miles fromHarumpore, and shot the cook. And, according to the easy Indiantheology, the cook was wafted off to paradise, while General Bainesbetook himself to hell, or was betaken. But the column, three thousandperspiring Britons strong, continued marching, loaded down withhaversacks and ammunition and resolve. 

It was met, long before the jackals had dug down to General Baines'remains, by the advance-guard of Colonel Kendrick's column, which wascoming out of Harumpore because things were not brisk enough in thatplace to keep it busy. Kendrick himself was riding with the cavalrydetachment that led the way southward. 

"Who's in command now?" he asked, for they had told him of GeneralBaines' death by poison. 

"I am, " said a gray-haired officer who rode up at that moment. 

"I'm your senior, sir, by two years, " answered Kendrick. 

"Then you command, sir. "

"Very good. Enough time's been wasted. The column can wait here until mymain body reaches us. Then we'll march at once on Jailpore. This ideaof leaving Jailpore to its fate is nonsense! The rebels are in strengththere, and they have perpetrated an abominable outrage. There we willpunish them, or else we'll all die in the attempt! If we have to razeJailpore to the ground, and put every man in it to the sword before wefind the four Europeans supposed to be left alive there, our duty isnone the less obvious! Here comes my column. Tell the men to be ready tomarch in ten minutes. "

He turned his horse, to look through the dust at the approaching column, but the man who had been superseded touched him on the sleeve. 

"What's that? Better have a rest? Tired out, you say? Oh! Form them allup in hollow square, then, and I'll say a few words to them. There areother ways of reviving a leg-weary column than by letting it lie down. "

Ten minutes later a dull roar rose up through a steel-shot dust-cloud, and three thousand helmets whirled upward, flashing in the sun. Threethousand weary men had given him his answer! There was no kind of handleto it; no reserve--nothing but generous and unconditional allegianceunto hunger, thirst, pain, weariness, disease or death. It takes a realcommander to draw that kind of answer from a tired-out column, but itis a kind of answer, too, that makes commanders! It is not mere talk, oneither side. It means that by some sixth sense a strong man and his menhave discovered something that is good in each other. 

XI. 

"You've made good time, friend Juggut Khan!" said Brown, advancing tomeet him where the men and the fakir and the interpreter would not beable to Overhear. 

"Sahib, I killed one horse--the horse you looted for me--and I broughtaway two from Bholat. One of them carried me more than fifty miles, andthen I changed to this one, leaving the other on the road. I have ordersfor you, sahib. "

"Hand 'em over then, " said Brown. "Orders first, and talk afterward, when there's time!"

The Rajput drew out a sealed envelope, and passed it to him. Brown toreit open, and read the message, scowling at the half-sheet of paper asthough it were a death-sentence. 

"Where's the general?"

"With his column-twenty or thirty miles away to the northward by now!"

"And he's left me, with this handful, in the lurch?"

"Nay, sahib! As I understood the orders, he has left you with a veryhonorable mission to fulfil!"

Brown stared hard at the half-sheet of notepaper again. Reading was nothis longest suit by any means, and at that he infinitely preferred towrestle with printed characters. 

"Have you read it, Juggut Khan?" he asked. 

"Nay, sahib. I can speak English, but not read it. "

"Then we're near to being in the same boat, we two!" said Brown witha grin. "I'll have another try! It looks like a good-by message tome--here's the word 'good-by' written at the end above his signature. "

"There were other matters, sahib. There was an order. I can not read, but I know what is in the message. "

"Well?"

"You, and your twelve--"

"Nine!" corrected Brown. 

"Three dead?"

Brown nodded. 

"Your nine, then, sahib, and you and I are to proceed immediatelyto Jailpore, and to gain an entrance if we can, rescue those whom Iconcealed there and bring them to Harumpore, or to the northward ofHarumpore, wherever we can find the column. "

"Eleven men are to attempt that?"

Brown was studying out the letter word by word, and discovering to hisamazement that its purport was exactly what Juggut Khan pretended. 

"If there are no more than eleven of us, then yes, eleven! And, sahib, since you seem to hold at least an island here where a man may lie downunmolested, I propose to sleep for an hour or two, before proceeding. Ihave had no sleep since I left Jailpore. "

"Nothing of the sort!" said Brown. "If we're to march on Jailpore, offwe go at once! You can sleep on the road, my son! It's time we paid avisit to that village, I'm thinking. Those treacherous brutes need alesson. I'd have been down there before, only I wanted to be in fullview of the road in case anybody came looking for me from Bholat. We'llneed a wagon for the fakir. You can sleep in it too. "

"Sleep with a fakir? I? Allah! I am a Rajput, sahib! A sergeant of theRajput Horse, retired!"

"I wouldn't want to sleep with him myself!" admitted Brown. "Come andlook at him. You can smell him from here, but the sight of him's thereal thing!"

The Rajput swaggered up beside Brown, after loosening his horse's girthsand lifting the saddle for a moment. 

"He's not the only one that needs a drink!" said Brown. "We're all dryas brick-dust here, except the fakir!"

"He must wait a while before he drinks. Show me the fakir. Why, Brownsahib, know you what you have there?"

"The father of all the smells, and all the dirt and all the evil eyesand evil tongues in Asia!" Brown hazarded. 

"More than that, sahib! That is the nameless fakir--him whom they knowas HE! Has there been no attempt made to rescue him?"

"They rescued him once, and murdered three of my men to get him. Whenthey tried again, I put a halter round his neck and he and I arranged asort of temporary compromise. "

"And the terms of it?"

"Oh, he's supposed to have performed a miracle. He made us unslip thehalter, and fall down flat, and he's supposed to be keeping us by him, by a sort of spell, so's to give us something extra-special in the lineof ghastly deaths at his own convenience. That way, I was able to waitfor news from Bholat--see?"

"You could have captured no more important prisoner than that, sahib, let me tell you! They believe him to be almost a god; so nearly onethat the gods themselves obey his orders now and then! It was he, and noother, that told the men of Jailpore that he would make them imperviousto bullets. If we have him, sahib, we have the key to Jailpore!"

"We, have certainly got him, " said Brown. "You can see him, and you cansmell him. I'll order one of the men to prick him with a bayonet, if youwant to hear him, too! I wouldn't feel him, if I were you!"

"He must come, too, to Jailpore!"

"Of course he comes!"

"Then, sahib, let us move away from here to where there is water. Therelet us rest until sundown, and then march, in the cool of the evening. It will be better so. And of a truth I must sleep, or else drop deadfrom weariness. "

"Does that message put you in command?" asked Brown, a trifletruculently. 

"No, sahib! But it orders you to listen to my advice whenever possible. "

"That means that you are under my orders?"

"That letter does not say so, sahib!"

"Very well, are you, or are you not?"

"We are supposed to act in concert, sahib. "

"It doesn't say so in the letter! Yes, or no? Are you going to obeyorders, or aren't you? In other words, are you coming with me, or do youstay behind?"

"I come with you, sahib!"

"Then you obey my orders!"

"But the letter says--"

"That I'm to take your advice whenever possible! I don't need advicejust at the moment, thanks! I've got orders here to march, and I'm offat once! You can please yourself whether you come with me or not, but ifyou come you come on my terms. "

"I go with you, sahib. "

"Under my orders?"

"Yes, sahib. "

"All right, Juggut Khan. Here's my hand on it. Now, we'll swoop down onthat village, and take the fakir with us, with a halter round his neckfor the sake of argument. We'll get two bullock-carts down there, andwe'll stick him in one of them, with Sidiki the interpreter tied to him. Sidiki won't like it, but he's only a Beluchi anyway! You get in theother, and get all the sleep you can. You and I'll take turns sleepingall the way to Jailpore, so's to be fresh, both of us, and fit foranything by the time that we get there!"

"I am ready, sahib. "

"You two men who carried old Stinkijink before, pick him up again!"shouted Brown. "Let him feel the bayonet if he makes a noise, but carryhim gently as though you loved him. The rest--'Tshun! Form two-deep--onthe center--close order, march. Ri' dress. Eyes front. Ri' turn. By theleft--quick march. "

The Rajput strode beside Brown, wondering wearily whether it was worthhis while to offer him advice or not, and keeping his tired eyes evermoving in the direction of the distant huts. 

"They have rifles, sahib?" he queried. 

"Lots of 'em! Three that they took from my men, among others. "

"It would not be well to march into a trap at this stage. "

"As well now as later. " "True, sahib! And my time has not come yet; Iknow it. Else had I died of weariness, as my horse did. "

Brown kept rigidly to that point of view in everything he did, from thattime on until he reached Jailpore. He believed himself to be engaged ona forlorn hope that was so close to being an absolute impossibility asto be almost the same thing. He had no doubt whatever in his own mindbut that his own death, and the death of those with him, was a matternow of hours, or possibly of minutes. His one resolute determinationwas to die, and make the others die, in a manner befitting their oathof service. He had orders, and he would pass them on according to hisinterpretation of them. He would obey his orders, and they theirs, andthe rest was no business of his or anybody's. 

They put the fakir in a hut; where Juggut Khan--too weary forforaging--stood guard over him. When a crowd collected round the hut, and Juggut Khan applied the butt of a lighted cigarette to the tenderskin between the fakir's shoulder-blades, the anxious fakir-worshiperswere told that all was well. They were to let the white soldiers taketwo wagons, or three even, if they wanted them. They were to returnto their houses at once, and hide, lest the devils who would shortlyoverwhelm the white men should make mistakes and include them, too, inthe whelming. He, the fakir, intended to take the white men for a littlejourney along the road toward Jailpore, where the devils who would dealwith them would have no opportunity to make mistakes. And, since thenatives knew that Jailpore was a rebel stronghold, and that ten whitemen and a native would have no chance to do the slightest damage there, they chose to believe the fakir and to obey him. 

Hindus have as stubborn and unalterable a habit of obeying and believingtheir priests--when the fancy suits them--as white men of otherreligions have. 

If the fakir had told them through the doorway of the hut that heintended going with the white men in the direction of Bholat, they wouldmost surely have prevented him. But it suited them very well indeed tohave the white men killed elsewhere. It was not likely, but there mightbe a column on its way from Bholat now; and if that column came, andfound the bones of British soldiers as well as a burned-out guard-house, vengeance would be dire and prompt. Between where they were andJailpore, the white men could not possibly escape. And at Jailpore, if not sooner, they must surely die. So they believed the fakir, andretired to the seclusion of their houses. 

It was wonderful, of course, but no more wonderful than a thousand otherhappenings in '57. All laws of probability and general average wereupset that year, when sixty thousand men held down an armed continent. Even stranger things were happening than that two bullock-cartsshould dawdle through a rebel-seething district in the direction of aplundered, blood-soaked rebel stronghold; stranger even than that onthe foremost bullock-cart a lean and louse-infested fakir should besquatting, guarded by British soldiers, who marched on either hand; orthat a Rajput, who could trace his birth from a thousand-year-long lineof royal chieftains, should be sleeping in the bullock-cart behind, followed closely by a black charger with a British saddle on its back, which ate corn from the tail-board of the wagon; stranger things, even, than that a British sergeant should be marching last of all, with hisstern eyes roving a little wildly but his jaw set firm and his tread asrigid and authoritative and abrupt as though he were marching to inspectaccouterments. 

In more than a dozen places, about a dozen men were holding a fortagainst an army. They were using every wile and trick and dodge thatingenuity or inspiration could provide them with, and they were mostlycontriving to hold out. But there were none who did anything more daringor more unusual than to march to the attack of a city, with a hostilefakir in the van, and nothing else but their eleven selves and theirrifles to assist them. There is a tremendous difference betweendefending when you have to, and attacking when you might retire. 

XII. 

There were many more causes than one that worked together to makepossible the entry of Brown and his little force into Jailpore. Theywere brave men; they were more than brave and they held the ace oftrumps, as Brown had stated, in the person of the fakir known as "He. "But luck favored them as well, and but for luck they must have perishedhalf a dozen times. 

They marched the whole of the first afternoon, and met no one. They onlyovertook little straggling parties of rebels, making one and all forJailpore, who bolted at the sight of them, imagining them probably to bethe advance-guard of a larger force. The very idiocy of marching elevenstrong through a country infested by their enemies was in their favor. Nobody could believe that there were no more than eleven of them. Eventhe English could not be such lunatics!

That night, they rested for a while, and then went on again. During theday following they lay in a hollow between some trees and rested, andslept by turns. They suffered agonies from the heat, and not a littlefrom hunger, and once or twice they were hard put to it to stop theRajput's charger from neighing when a native pony passed along thenearby road. But night came again, and with it the screen of darknessfor their strange, almost defenseless caravan. Once or twice thefakir tried to shout an alarm to passing villagers, but the quick andenergetic application of a cleaning-rod by Brown stopped him alwaysin the nick of time, and they came within sight of the battlements ofJailpore without an accident. 

Then, though, their problem became really serious, and it was a seriesof circumstances altogether out of their control and not connectedwith them that made their entry possible. The mutineers in Jailpore hadlearned that Kendrick sahib was coming down on them from the north byforced marches with thirty-five hundred men or more. They were puttingthe place into a state of siege, and getting ready by all means in theirpower to oppose him. 

Little attention was being paid to small parties of arrivals from no manknew or cared where. And, in a final effort to find the four who werethe lure that was bringing Kendrick down on them, the city was oncemore being turned upside down and inside out, and men were even beingtortured who were thought to know of hiding-places. 

With purely Eastern logic, the leaders of the rebels had decided thatthe sight of the bodies of the four, writhing in their last agony on thesun-scorched outer wall, would mightily discourage the British when theycame. So no efforts were being spared and no stones left unturned tofind them. The hooks on the wall were sharp and ready, so that theymight be impaled without loss of time in full view of their would-berescuers. 

Almost every secret passage of the thousand odd had been explored. Inthe hurry to run through them and explore the next one, doors had beenleft open here and there that had been kept closed in some instances forcenturies. 

One door in particular, placed cornerwise in a buttress of the outerwall, was spotted by Juggut Khan as he circled round the city on hischarger at dusk on the day following their arrival. He brought hischarger back to where the others lay concealed, and then went on anexploring-expedition on foot--to discover that the outer city wallwas like a sponge, a nest of honey-combed cells and passages wanderinginterminably in the fifty-foot-thick brick and rubble rampart. 

And while he searched amid the mazy windings of the wall, Bill Brown satin the forked top of a tree and studied out the ground-plan of the city. He was imprinting landmarks in his memory for future reference, andtrying--with a brain that ached from the apparent hopelessness of thetask--to figure out a plan. 

He knew by now that the four he had come to rescue were hiddenunderneath the powder-magazine, and he could see the magazine itself. But he could think of no way of rescuing them, for the city absolutelyboiled with frantic, mixed-up castes and creeds picked at random, andthrown in at random from the whole of India. A mouse could not havepassed through the streets undetected! And yet, from a soldier's pointof view, there were certain fascinating details to be noticed aboutthat powder-magazine. In the first place, it had been constructed fora granary by an emperor who never heard of Joseph, but who had the sameideal plan for cornering the people's food-supply. And since labor hadbeen unlimited, and cheap, he had gone about building the thing on themost thoroughly unpractical and most pretentious plan that he and hisarchitects could figure out. It was big enough to hold about ten timesas much grain as the province could grow in any one year of plenty. And, since that was the least practical and most ungranary-like shape, he hadcaused it to be built like an enormous beehive, with a tiny platform atthe top. 

Winding round and round the huge stone dome, and on the outside, was asix-foot-wide trail, which was the elevator. Up this, each with a sackor a basket on his head, the population was to have been induced to runin single file, dumping its hard-won corn into the granary through anopening at the top until the granary was full. 

The emperor died--by poison--before he could see his cherished projectput into execution, but he had been a very thorough calculator, anda builder who believed in permanency. He had foreseen that when thegranary was full, and the screw-jacks were turned beneath the cost ofliving, there would probably be efforts made by unwashed, untutored, unenlightened mobs to rape his storehouse. So he had made the littleplatform at the top a veritable fortress of a place, such as a handfulof men could hold against a hundred thousand. 

There was no known entrance to the granary above ground, except on theground level, where a huge stone gateway frowned above a teak-and-irondoor. Above that door there were galleries, and fortalices and cunninglyinvented battlements in miniature, from behind whose shelter a resolutedefending-party could pour out a hundred different kinds of death on ahungry crowd. The place was naturally fire-proof and naturally cool--asfar as any building can be cool in Central India. It was a first-class, ideal powder-magazine, if useless as a granary; and the last newconquerors of India had hastened to adopt it as a means of storing upthe explosive medicine with which they kept their foothold. 

Naturally, none but White soldiers, and a very few of the more trustednatives, had ever been allowed to go inside the powder-magazine. The secret passages beneath it had never been intended for publicconvenience or information. They had been designed as a means of rushingdefenders secretly into the granary, and they connected with a tunnelunderneath the palace that had just been burned. They also connectedwith the outer wall in such a way that defenders from the ramparts mightbe rushed there too, if wanted in a hurry. But, since there never hadbeen corn kept in the granary, and nobody had ever had the slightestneed to force an entrance, the knowledge even of the existence of thepassages had become barely a memory, and there was not a man living inJailpore who knew exactly where they began or where they ended. Therewas a man outside who knew, but none inside. 

The point about the powder-magazine which most appealed to Brown--nextafter his knowledge of its contents, mineral and human--was the factthat the little platform at its summit overlooked the city-wall, andthat the side of the granary actually touched the wall on the side ofthe city farthest from where he sat and spied it out. Ten men on thatprotected platform, he thought, might suffer from the sun, but theycould hold the building and command a good-sized section of the cityramparts against all comers. 

He noticed too, though that seemed immaterial at the time, that onewell-aimed shot from heavy ordnance might crash through the upper domeand set off the powder underneath. There was no artillery that couldbe brought against the place, either with the British force or with themutineers, but the thought set him to wondering how much powder theremight be stored on the huge round floor below, and what would happenshould it become ignited. It was a sanguinary, interesting, subtle kindof thought, that suited the condition of his brain exactly! He climbeddown from the tree, feeling almost good-natured. 

At the bottom he met Juggut Khan, waiting for him patiently. 

"What have you seen, sahib?" he asked him. "Have you formed a plan?"

"I've been wishing I was Joshua!" said Brown. "I'd like to make my menmarch round the city and blow trumpets, and then see the walls falldown. I can think of several things to do, if we could only get inside. But I can't think how to get there. "

"I have found a way in!" said Juggut Khan. "I have cross-questionedthat fakir of ours as well, with a little assistance from a cleaning-rodwielded by one of your men. He knows the way too. He says he is the onlyman who knows it--in which he lies, since I too have discovered it. Buthis knowledge may help as well. "

"What's that about a cleaning-rod?" asked Brown. 

"It was used on him to help him forget his vow of silence. "

"When?"

"When you were up that tree, sahib!"

"Have you been giving my man orders?"

"Nay, sahib!"

"How did he come to beat the fakir, then?"

"We both arrived at the same conclusion at the same moment, and thefakir received the benefit!"

"Who held him, you?"

"Nay, sahib! God forbid! I am a clean man. I listened to hisconversation. The Beluchi held him. "

"Oh! Well, I like you well enough, Juggut Khan, but there are thingsabout you that I don't like. You're too fond of doing things on your ownresponsibility, and you're much too fond of using oaths. Y our soulis none o' my business; you're a heathen anyhow, and no longer in theService. But, I'll trouble you not to use those disgraceful oaths ofyours in the presence of the men! Do you understand me?"

"I understand you, sahib. If my respect for all your other qualitieswere not so profound, I would laugh at you! As it is, if your honorshould see fit to turn the bullocks loose, and tie the fakir fastbetween two men and follow me, it seems to me dark enough by now, and Iknow the way. Might I furthermore suggest that the ammunition-box wouldmake a reasonable load for another two men?"

"Hadn't we better bring our rifles too?" asked Brown sarcastically. "Upon my honor, Juggut Khan! You're getting childish! Are your nervesupset, or what? Lead on, man! Lead on!"

"Listen. There are two ways, sahib. One way leads from the burned-outbarracks to the cellar where the women lie hidden. That way is closed bydebris. The other way leads from the outer wall by a very winding routeto the cellar where the women are. The fakir knows that way, and I donot, though I know of it. There is a third way, though, that leads fromthe outer wall, where I have been exploring, straight almost, if youdisregard a wind or two, to the inside of the powder-magazine. Itenters the magazine through a doorway secretly contrived in an uprightpillar--or so the fakir swears. Now this is my notion, sahib. If wego in by the lower way, we must come out that way, and run the risk ofbeing caught as we emerge. That risk will be greatly enhanced whenwe have frightened women with us whose eyes have been blinded by thedarkness. But, if we go in by the upper way, and enter the magazineitself, I can make the fakir show us how to lift the stone trapdoor Ispoke of--the one that I closed when I hid the women. Then I can ascendwith him, and with say four men, while you ascend to the platform at thetop with the remainder of the men, and guard our rear and our exit. From the top, you will be able to see us as we emerge, and can cover ourretreat, and follow. "

"That sounds like a roundabout sort of plan to me!" said Brown. "Why notgo straight in by the lower route, and gather up the women, and carry'em out, and make a bolt for it?"

"Because, sahib, we will be at the fakir's mercy. "

"Nonsense! He's at our mercy. "

"Think, sahib! There, he will be in his own bat's nest, so to speak. These fakirs are the only men who know the windings of all the secretpassages. They are the rats of religion and intrigue. At any step hemight lead us into an ambush, and we might be overwhelmed before we knewthat we were attacked. If we go the other way, though, I can lead theway myself, and we need only take the fakir to show us how to open thedoor. "

"Very well, " said Brown. "Let's get a move on, though! I'm beginning tothink that you're a better talker than a fighter, Juggut Khan!"

"Yes, sahib? I trust there will be no fighting!" But the Rajput smiledas he said it, and thought of a certain lance-shaft which had beenbroken in the streets of Jailpore. 

"Lead on! Fall in behind me, men! Walk quietly, now, and remember. Holdyour tongues! Each man keep his eye on me, and a finger on the trigger!"

The Beluchi and the fakir and Juggut Khan moved in the van, with twomen to hold the fakir. Next marched, or rather tiptoed, Sergeant Brown, followed by the other men in single file. In that order they hastenedafter Juggut Khan, through the darkness, across a dried-out moat andround the corner of a huge stone buttress. There they disappeared insidethe wall, and a stone swung round and closed the gap behind the last ofthem. There was no alarm given, and not a sign or a sound of any kindto betoken that any one had seen them. Inside the walls the city roaredlike a flood-fed maelstrom, and outside all was darkness and the silenceof the dead. 

XIII. 

There was some smart work done inside the powder-magazine. To be able toappreciate it properly one would be obliged to do what they did--wanderthrough a maze of tunnels in a city-wall, blinded by darkness, oppressedby the stored-up stuffiness and heat of ages and deafened by thestillness--then emerge unexpectedly in the lamp-lit magazine, amongmutineers who sprawled, and laughed; and chewed betel-nut at their easeupon the powder-kegs. 

Both sides were taken by surprise, but the mutineers had the nominaladvantage, for their eyes were accustomed to the light. They had theadvantage in numbers, too, by almost two to one. But they dared notfire, for fear of setting off the magazine, whereas Brown and his littleforce dared anything. They fully expected to die, and might as well diethat way as any other. And a quick death for the women down below wouldbe better than anything the rebels had in store for them. Brown yelledan order, and the rest was too quick, nearly, for the eye to follow. 

Three rebels died with bullets in them, and the rest stampeded for theteak-and-metal door, to find it locked on them, and Brown and the Rajputstanding in front of it on guard. The mutineers attacked fiercely. Theyflung themselves all together on the two. But they had yet to learn thatthey were tackling, or endeavoring to tackle, the two finest swordsmenin that part of India. And when they turned, to find more room to fightin, or to draw their breath, they had to face nine bayonets that hemmedthem in, and drove them closer and even closer to the swords again. They shouted, but no sound could pierce the walls or escape through thattremendous door. Even the sound of firing merely echoed upward until itreached the dome, and then filtered out and upward through the openingabove. They might as well have shouted to their friends in Bholat!

For ten minutes, perhaps, the battle surged and swayed on the stonefloor first one side rushing, then the other. But man after man of themutineers went down--appalled by the amazing swordsmanship, disheartenedby the grim determination of their adversaries, bewildered to feeblenessby the suddenness of the attack. 

Soon there were but eight of them facing the blood-wet steel, and thenBrown shouted for a fresh formation, swung his contingent into line andled them with a rush across the floor that swept the remaining mutineersoff their feet. 

Three more went down with steel through them, and then the restsurrendered, throwing down their arms, and begging mercy. Brown made abundle of their arms, stowed it in a corner and made the prisoners standtogether in a bunch, while he searched them thoroughly. 

"If we can't get that trapdoor open now, with these to help us, " heremarked, panting and wiping the dotted blood off his sword on a Hinduprisoner's trousers, "it'll be a heavier proposition than I think!"

"There's a trick to it, " said Juggut Khan, panting too, for the battlehad been fierce and furious while it lasted. "The fakir knows the trick. It is heavy, in any case. But, if we make him tell us, we can manageit. "

There followed delay while the fakir was induced to forego the pleasureof a sulking fit. He seemed like a child, anxious to emphasize theirdependence on his knowledge, and needing to be recompelled to each newthing they needed of him. He was perfectly content, though, to surrenderwhen he felt the weight of a cleaning-rod on his anatomy, or somethingin the way of fire--a match or cigarette for instance--placed where hewould get the most sensation from it. 

Then followed more delay, while they rigged a lever of sorts, and a ropethrough an iron ring in the trap, and while Juggut Khan hunted for thesecret catch that the fakir swore was hidden underneath a smaller stonethat hinged in the middle of the floor. He found it at last, moved itand came across to lend a hand with the lever and the rope. 

The fakir sat still and smiled at them. His eyes gleamed more horridlythan ever, and his withered arm seemed more than ever to be calling downdire vengeance on them. 

"I believe that monster is up to tricks of some kind!" swore Brown. 

"He can't do anything, " said Juggut Khan. "If we were all to put ourweight against this, all together, we and the prisoners, sahib, we couldget it open in a second. "

"All together, then!" said Brown. "Come on, there! Lend a hand!"

The prisoners and Brown's men and Juggut Khan and the Beluchi benttheir backs above the lever, or hauled taut on the rope, and the fakirwriggled with some secret joke. 

"At the word three!" said Brown. "Then all together!"

"One!"

"Two!"

The fakir writhed delightedly. He seemed more than ever like a wickedlymalicious child. 

"Three!"

They strained their utmost, and the huge stone trap gave way with asudden jerk. 

"For the love of--"

They all jumped, but they were strained in the wrong position for aquick recovery, and the ten-ton rock rolled back on unseen hinges tocrush them all, and rolled back and yet farther back--and then stayed!Brown had snatched a rifle, and had placed it between the rolling rockand the wall!

He stood wiping the sweat from his forehead, while the rest recoveredtheir lost balance and walked out from behind unscathed. The riflecreaked and bent and split. Then the stone leaned farther back, reachedthe wall and stayed there!

"A near thing that!" said Brown. "That fakir's a bright beauty, isn'the!"

"Shall I kick him, sir?" asked one of Brown's men. 

"Kick him? No! What good'd that do? What next, Juggut Khan?"

But Juggut Khan was bending down, and listening at the hole laid bare bythe huge hinged trap. 

"Silence!" commanded Brown. 

The men held their breath, even, but not a sound came up from thedarkness down below. 

"Are they dead, d'you suppose?" asked Brown. 

And, even as he asked it, some one in the darkness snuffled, and heheard a woman's voice that moaned. 

"Snff-snff-snff! I wonder if I'm dead yet! I wouldn't be, I know, ifBill were here! He'd ha' got us out!"

"There is one of them alive!" said Juggut Khan. 

"So I notice!" answered Brown, with a strange dry quaver in his voice. "Go down and bring her up, please! Take three or four men with you. Itwon't do to bring women and a child up here and let 'em see this awfulfakir and these corpses. Take your time about bringing 'em up, whileI make the prisoners carry their dead up on to the roof. I'll take thefakir up there too where he's out of mischief!"

Just as a six-foot-wide pathway ran round and round the outside of thedome, another one, scarcely more than a yard wide, ran round theinside, and formed a roadway to the top in place of a stair. It took theprisoners and Brown's men fifteen minutes of continuous effort to carryup the dead and the fakir, and lay them on the roof. 

"Pitch the dead over!" ordered Brown, and the mutineers obeyed. 

"I've a mind to pitch you over too!" he growled at the fakir, and thestrange creature seemed to understand him, for his eyes changed fromtheir baleful hatred to a look of fear. 

The bodies slid and rolled down the rounded roof, and fell with a thudagainst the battlements, or else went rolling down the circular causewaythat led to the street below. 

Brown seemed to be garnering ideas from watching them. He gazed downat the noisy tumult of the city, watching for a while the efforts of anill-directed crowd to put out a fire that blazed in a distant quarter ofthe bazaar. 

There seemed to him something strangely preconcerted about much of thehurrying to and fro below him. It struck him as being far too orderly tobe the mere boiling of a loot-crazed mob. 

His prisoners gave the secret to him. They were leaning against theparapet on the other side--the side closest to the city-wall, andfarthest from the top of the causeway--and they were chattering togetherexcitedly in undertones. Brown walked round to where they stood, andstared where they stared. Just as they had done, he recognized what laybelow him. 

It was faintly outlined in the blackness, picked out here and there bylanterns, and still too far away for most civilians to name it untilthe sun rose and showed its detail. But Brown, the soldier, knew on theinstant, and so did his men. 

Suddenly and unexpectedly and sweetly, like a voice in the night thatspoke of hope and strength and the rebirth of order out of chaos, abugle gave tongue from where the lanterns swung in straight-kept lines. 

"Oh, Juggut Khan! Oh, Juggut Khan!"

Bill Brown's voice boomed through the opening in the dome, and spreaddown the walls of the powder-magazine as though in the inside of aspeaking-trumpet. 

"Brown sahib?"

"The army has got here from the north! It has come down here fromHarumpore! It's outside the walls now, lying on its arms, and evidentlywaiting to attack at daylight!"

"I, too, have news, Brown sahib! All four are living! All four lie hereon the floor of the magazine, and they recover rapidly. They are all butstrong enough to stand. "

"Good! Then come up here, Juggut Khan!"

That winding pathway up the inside of the dome took longer to negotiatethan an ordinary stairway would have done, but presently the Rajputleaned against the parapet and panted beside Brown. 

"D'you see them? There they are! Now, look on this side! D'you see thepreparations going on? D'you realize what the next thing's going to be?They'll come for powder for the guns, so's to have it all ready for thegun-crews when the fun begins at dawn! Listen! Here they are already!"

A thundering had started on the great teak door below--a thundering thatechoed through the dome like the reverberations of an earthquake. Itwas punctuated by the screams of women. The prisoners changed theirattitude, and eyed Brown and the Rajput with an air of truculence again. 

"They'll be up this causeway in a minute, sahib! Listen. There! They'veseen the dead bodies that you tossed over. Better it had been to keepthem up here for a while. "

"Never mind! We can hold this causeway until morning! Men! Takeclose order. Line up at the causeway-entrance. Kneel. Prepare forvolley-firing. Now, let 'em come!"

"I am for making an immediate escape, sahib!"

"Go ahead!" said Brown, almost dreamily. 

He seemed to be thinking hard on some other subject as he spoke. 

"Sahib, one of the women there--she who is maid to the other two--askedme where Bill Brown might be! She swore to me that she had recognizedhis voice when the trapdoor opened up above her. Are you not BillBrown?"

"Yes, I'm William Brown!"

"Her name, she says, is Emmett!"

"You don't surprise me, Juggut Khan! I thought I had recognized hervoice. It seemed strangely familiar. Well--here come the rebels up thecauseway. See? They're at the bottom now with lanterns! Ready, men!"

There came the answering click of breech-bolts, and a little rustling aseach man eased his position, and laid his elbow on his knee. 

"Can you find your way out through the way we came, Juggut Khan?"

"Of course I can!"

"Are all the women on the floor?"

"Three women and the child. "

"Can you close the trap-door again?"

"Surely! It is only opening it that is difficult. "

"Then close it before you go. I've got a reason! Send one of my men uphere with a lantern--one of those that are burning in the magazine. Iwant to signal. "

"Very well, sahib!"

"Then take the women, with four of my men to help them walk, and get outas quickly as you can by the way we all came in. Wait for the rest ofmy men when you reach the opening in the outer wall, and when theyreach you allot two men to carry each woman, and run--the whole lot ofyou--for the army over yonder. One of the women will object. She willwant to see me first. Use force, if necessary!"

"Are you, then, not coming, sahib?"

"I have another plan. Here they come! Hurry now, be off with the women!Volley-firing--ready--present!"

Pattering footsteps sounded on the causeway, and a little crowd ofnearly doubled figures came up it at a run. 

"Fire!"

The volley took the rebels absolutely by surprise, and no man could misshis mark at that short range. Five of the rebels fell back headlong, andthe rest, who followed up the causeway, turned on their heels and ran. 

"'Bout turn!" Brown shouted suddenly. "Use the steel, men! Use thesteel!"

His own sword was flashing, and lunging as he spoke, and he had alreadychecked a sudden rush by the prisoners. 

They had thought the moment favorable for joining in the scrimmage fromthe rear. 

"All right! That'll do them! I'll attend to 'em now!"

A man came running up with the lantern Brown had asked for, and Browntook it and began waving it above his head. 

"They must have heard that volley!" he muttered to himself. "Ah! There'sthe answer!"

A red light began to dance over in the British camp, moving up and downand sidewise in sudden little jerks. Brown read the jerks, as he couldnever have read writing, and a moment later he answered them. 

"Now, down below, the lot of you! Give me your rifle, you. I'll needit. "

"Not coming, sir. "

"Not yet. There's something else yet, and I can do it best. Besides, some one has got to guard the causeway still. There might be a rushagain at any minute. Listen now. Obey Juggut Khan implicitly as soon asyou get down. His orders are my orders. Understand? Very well, then. Andyou without a weapon, your job is to shut the door that you leave themagazine by tight from the outside--d'you understand me? Call up whenyou're all through the door, and then shut it tight!"

"But, how'll you get out, sir?"

"That's my business. One minute, though. Here they come again. Get readyto fire another volley!"

The mutineers made another and a more determined rush up the causeway, coming up it more than twenty strong, and at the double. Brown let onevolley loose in the midst of them, then led his men at the charge downon them and drove them over the edge of the causeway by dint of sheerimpact and cold steel. Not one of them reached the ground alive, andin the darkness it must have been impossible for the mutineers below todivine how many were the granary's defenders. 

"That'll keep 'em quiet for a while, I'll wager! Now, quick, you men!Get down below, and follow Juggut Khan, and don't forget to shut thedoor tight on you. These prisoners here are going to follow you--theymay as well go down with you for that matter. No! that won't do. Theycould open the door below, couldn't they? They'll have to stay up here. Got any rope? Then bind them, somebody. Bind their hands and feet. Now, off with you!"

Brown spent the next few minutes signaling with the lantern, and readinganswering flashes that zig-zagged in the velvet blackness of the Britishlines. Then, as a voice boomed up through the granary, "All's well, sir!I'm just about to shut the door!" he fixed his eyes on the fakir, andlaughed at him. 

"You and I are going to turn in our accounts of how we've worked outthis 'Hookum hai' business, my friend!" he told him. "You've givenorders, and I've obeyed orders! We've both accounted for a death or two, and we've both accepted responsibility. We're going to know in less thanfive minutes from now which of us two was justified. There's one thingI know, though, without asking. There's one person, and she a woman, who'll weep for me. Will anybody weep for you, I wonder?"

A lantern waved wildly from the British camp, and Brown seized his ownlantern and signaled an answer. 

"See that? That's to say, you glassy-eyed horror you, that our mutualfriend Juggut Khan has been seen emerging like a rat from a hole in thewall. I'll give him and his party one more minute to get clear. Thenthere's going to be a holocaust, my friend!"

He cocked his rifle, and examined the breech-bolt and the foresightcarefully. The fakir shuddered, evidently thinking that the charge wasintended for himself. 

"No! It won't be that way. I know a better! I'm taking a leaf from yourbook and doing harm by wholesale!"

Brown leaned down into the opening of the dome, and brought the rifleto his shoulder. There was a chorus of yells from the prisoners, and anoise like a wounded horse's scream from the fakir. The rest were bound, but the fakir rose and writhed toward him on his heels, with his soundarm stretched up in an attitude of despair beside the withered one. 

A chorus of bugles burst out from the British camp, and a volley rippedthrough the blackness. 

"All right! Here goes!" said Brown. And he aimed down into the shadowypowder-magazine, and pulled the trigger. 

Ten minutes later, an army three thousand and five hundred strongmarched in through the gap made in the outer wall by a granary that hadspread itself through--and not over--what was in its way. There wereseventeen tons of powder that responded to the invitation of Brown'sbullet. 

XIV. 

Explosions are among the few things--or the many things, whichever wayyou like to look at it!--that science can not undertake to harness oraccount for. When a gun blows up, or a powder-magazine, the shock killswhom it kills, as when a shell bursts in a dense-packed firing-line. Youcan not kill any man before his time comes, even if a thousand tons ofsolid masonry combine with you to whelm him, and go hurtling through theair with him to absolutely obvious destruction. 

The fakir's time had come, and the prisoners' time had come. ButSergeant William Brown's had not. 

They found him, blackened by powder, and with every stitch of clothingblown from him, clinging to a bunch of lotus-stems in a temple-pond. There was a piece of fakir in the water with him, and about a ton ofbroken granary, besides the remnants of a rifle and other proof that hehad come belched out of a holocaust. The men who came on him had giventheir officer the slip, and were bent on a private looting-expedition oftheir own. But by the time that they had dragged him from the water, andhe had looted them of wherewithal to clothe himself, their thoughts ofplunder had departed from them. Brown had a way of quite monopolizingpeople's thoughts!

There were twenty of them, and he led them all that night, and allthrough the morning and the afternoon that followed. He held themtogether and worked them and wheeled them and coached and cheered andcompelled them through the hell-tumult of the ghastliest thing there isbeneath the dome of heaven--house-to-house fighting in an Eastern city. And at the end of it, when the bugles blew at last "Cease fire, "and many of the men were marched away by companies to put out theconflagrations that were blazing here and there, he led them outsidethe city-wall, stood them at ease in their own line and saluted theircommanding-officer. 

"Twenty men of yours, sir. Present and correct. "

"Which twenty?"

"Of Mr. Blair's half-company. "

"Where's Mr. Blair?"

"Dunno, sir!"

"Since when have you had charge of them?"

"Since they broke into the city yesterday, sir. "

"And you haven't lost a man?"

"Had lots of luck, sir!"

"Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Sergeant Brown, sir. "

"Of the Rifles?"

"Of the Rifles, sir. "

"Were you the man who signaled to us from the magazine and blew it upand made the breach in the wall for us to enter by?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Are you alive, or dead? Man or ghost?"

"I'm pretty much alive, sir, thank you!"

"D'you realize that you made the taking of Jailpore possible? Thatbut for you we'd have been trying still to storm the walls withoutartillery?"

"I had the chance, sir, and I only did what any other man would ha' doneunder like circumstances. "

"Go and tell that to the Horse Marines--or, rather, tell it to ColonelKendrick! Go and report to him at once. Possibly he'll see it throughyour eyes!"

So Brown marched off to report himself, and he found Colonel Kendricknursing a badly wounded arm before a torn and mud-stained tent. 

"Who are you?" said the colonel, as Brown saluted him. 

"I'm Sergeant Brown, sir. "

"Not Bill Brown of the Rifles?"

"Yes, sir!"

"You lie! He was blown up on the roof of the powder-magazine! I supposeevery man who's gone mad from the heat will be saying that he's Brown!"

"I'm Brown, sir! I had written orders from General Baines to enterJailpore and rescue three women and a child. "

"Where are your orders?"

"Lost 'em, sir, in the explosion. "

"For a madman, you're a circumstantial liar! What happened to thewomen?"

The colonel sat back, and smothered an exclamation of agony as thenerves in his injured arm tortured him afresh. He had asked a questionwhich should settle once and for all this man's pretentions, and hewaited for the answer with an air of certainty. It was on his lips tocall the guard to take the lunatic away. 

"Juggut Khan, the Rajput, took them, with nine of my men, and broughtthem in to your camp last night, sir. I naturally haven't seen themsince. "

"Will the women know you?"

"One of them will, sir. "

"Which one?"

"Jane Emmett, sir. "

"Well, we'll see!"

The colonel called an orderly, and sent the orderly running for JaneEmmett. A minute later two strong arms were thrown round Bill Brown frombehind, and he was all but carried off his feet. 

"Oh, Bill--Bill--Bill! I knew you'd be all right! Turn round, Bill! Lookat me!"

She was clinging to him in such a manner that he could not turn, but hemanaged to pry her hands loose, and to draw her round in front of him. 

"I knew, Bill! I felt sure you'd come! And I recognized your voice theminute that the trapdoor opened and I heard it! I did, Bill! I knew youin a minute! I didn't worry then! I knew you wouldn't come and talk tome as long as there was any duty to be done. I just waited! They saidyou were killed in the explosion, but I knew you weren't! I knew it! Idid! I knew it!"

"Face me, please!" said Colonel Kendrick. "Now, Jane Emmett, is that manSergeant William Brown, of the Rifles?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Is he the man who entered Jailpore with nine men and a Rajput, and cameto your assistance?"

"Yes, sir! He's the same man who spoke in the powder-magazine;"

"Do you confirm that?" he asked Brown. 

"Under favor, sir, my men must be somewhere, if they're not all killed. They'll recognize me. And there's the other lot I led all last night andall today. They'll tell you where they found me!"

"Never mind! I've decided I believe you! D'you realize that you'resomething of a marvel?"

"No, sir--except that I've had marvelous luck!"

"Well, I shall take great pleasure in mentioning your name indespatches. It will go direct, at first hand, to Her Majesty the Queen!There are few men, let me tell you, Sergeant Brown, who would dare whatyou dared in the first place. But, more than that, there are even fewermen who would leave a sweetheart in some one else's care while they blewup a powder-magazine with themselves on top of it, in order to makea breach for the army to come in by! My right hand's out of actionunfortunately--you'll have to shake my left!"

The colonel rose, held his uninjured hand out and Brown shook it, sincehe was ordered to. 

"I consider it an honor and a privilege to have shaken hands with you, Sergeant Brown!" said Colonel Kendrick. 

"Thank you, sir!" said Brown, taking one step back, and then saluting. "May I join my regiment, sir?"

He joined his regiment, when he had helped to sort out the bleedingremnants of it from among the by-ways and back alleys of Jailpore. Andthe chaplain married him and Jane Emmett out of hand. He sent her offat once with her former mistress to the coast, and marched off with hisregiment to Delphi. And at Delphi his name was once more mentioned indespatches. 

When the Mutiny was over, and the country had settled down again topeace and reincarnation of a nation had begun, Brown found himselfhoisted to a civil appointment that was greater and more highly paidthan anything his modest soul had ever dreamed of. 

He never understood the reason for it, although he did his fighting-bestconsistently to fill the job; and he never understood why Queen Victoriashould have taken the trouble to write a letter to him in which shethanked him personally, nor why they should have singled out for praiseand special notice a fellow who had merely done his duty. 

Perhaps that was the reason why he was such a conspicuous success incivil life. They still talk of how Bill Brown, with Jane his wife andJuggut Khan the Rajput to advise him, was Resident Political Adviser toa Maharajah, and of how the Maharajah loathed him, and looked sidewiseat him--but obeyed. That, though, is not a war-story. It is a story ofthe saving of a war, and shall go on record, some day, beneath a titleof its own. 

FOR THE SALT HE HAD EATEN

Prologue

To the northward of Hanadra, blue in the sweltering heat-haze, laySiroeh, walled in with sun-baked mud and listless. Through a wooden gateat one end of the village filed a string of women with their water-pots. Oxen, tethered underneath the thatched eaves or by the thirsty-lookingtrees, lay chewing the cud, almost too lazy to flick the flies away. Even the village goats seemed overcome with lassitude. Here and therea pariah dog sneaked in and out among the shadows or lay and lickedhis sores beside an offal-heap; but there seemed to be no energy inanything. The bone-dry, hot-weather wind had shriveled up verdure andambition together. 

But in the mud-walled cottages, where men were wont to doze through thelong, hot days, there were murmurings and restless movement. Men layon thong-strung beds, and talked instead of dreaming, and the womenlistened and said nothing--which is the reverse of custom. Hanadra waswhat it always had been, thatched, sun-baked lassitude; but underneaththe thatch there thrummed a beehive atmosphere of tension. 

In the center of the village, where the one main road that led from themain gate came to an abrupt end at a low mud wall, stood a house thatwas larger than the others and somewhat more neatly kept; there had beenan effort made at sweeping the enclosure that surrounded it on all foursides, and there was even whitewash, peeling off in places but stillcomparatively white, smeared on the sun-cracked walls. 

Here, besides murmurings and movement, there was evidence of realactivity. Tethered against the wall on one side of the house stood a rowof horses, saddled and bridled and bearing evidence of having traveledthrough the heat; through the open doorway the sunshine glinted on asword-hilt and amid the sound of many voices rang the jingling of aspur as some one sat cornerwise on a wooden table and struck his toerestlessly against the leg. 

Another string of women started for the water-hole, with theirpicturesque brass jars perched at varying angles on their heads; and aseach one passed the doorway of this larger house she turned and scowled. A Rajput, lean and black-bearded and swaggering, came to the door andwatched them, standing proudly with his arms folded across his breast. As the last woman showed her teeth at him, he laughed aloud. 

"Nay!" said a voice inside. "Have done with that! Is noticing the Hinduwomen fit sport for a Rajput?"

The youngster turned and faced the old, black-bearded veteran who spoke. 

"If I had my way, " he answered, "I would ride roughshod through thisvillage, and fire the thatch. They fail to realize the honor that we paythem by a visit!"

"Aye, hothead! And burn thy brother's barn with what is in it! TheHindus here are many, and we are few, and there will be burnings andsaberings a-plenty before a week is past, if I read the signs aright!Once before have I heard such murmurings. Once before I have seenchupatties sent from house to house at sunset--and that time blood ranred along the roadside for a month to follow! Keep thy sword sharp awhile and wait the day!"

"But why, " growled another deep-throated Rajput voice, "does the Sirkarwait? Why not smite first and swiftly?"

Mahommed Khan moved restlessly and ran his fingers through his beard. 

"I know not!" he answered. "In the days when I was Risaldar in theRajput Horse, and Bellairs sahib was colonel, things were different! Butwe conquered, and after conquest came security. The English have grownoverconfident; they think that Mussulman will always war with Hindu, theone betraying the other; they will not understand that this lies deeperthan jealousy--they will not listen! Six months ago I rode to Jundhraand whispered to the general sahib what I thought; but he laughed backat me. He said 'Wolf! wolf!' to me and drew me inside his bungalow andbade me eat my fill. "

"Well--what matters it! This land has always been the playground of newconquerors!"

"There will be no new conquerors, " growled the old Risaldar, "so long asI and mine have swords to wield for the Raj!"

"But what have the English done for thee or us?"

"This, forgetful one! They have treated us with honor, as surely noother conquerors had done! At thy age, I too measured my happiness incattle and coin and women, but then came Bellairs sahib, and raised theRajput Horse, and I enlisted. What came of that was better than all thewealth of Ind!"

He spread his long legs like a pair of scissors and caught a childbetween them and lifted him. 

"Thou ruffian, thou!" he chuckled. "See how he fights! A true Rajput!Nay, beat me not. Some day thou too shalt bear a sword for England, great-grandson mine. Ai-ee! But I grow old. "

"For England or the next one!"

"Nay! But for England!" said the Risaldar, setting the child down on hisknee. "And thou too, hot-head. Before a week is past! Think you I calledmy sons and grandsons all together for the fun of it? Think you I rodehere through the heat because I needed the exercise or to chatter likean ape or to stand in the doorway making faces at a Hindu woman or towatch thee do it? Here I am, and here I stay until yet more news comes!"

"Then are we to wait here? Are we to swelter in Siroeh, eating up ourbrother's hospitality, until thy messengers see fit to come and tell usthat this scare of thine is past?"

"Nay!" said the Risaldar. "I said that I wait here! Return now to yourown homes, each of you. But be in readiness. I am old, but I can ridestill. I can round you up. Has any a better horse than mine? If he has, let him make exchange. "

"There will be horses for the looting if this revolt of thine breaksout!"

"True! There will be horses for the looting! Well, I wait here then and, when the trouble comes, I can count on thirteen of my blood to carryswords behind me?"

"Aye, when the trouble comes!"

There was a chorus of assent, and the Risaldar arose to let his sons andgrandsons file past him. He, who had beggared himself to give each oneof them a start in life, felt a little chagrined that they should nowrefuse to exchange horses with him; but his eye glistened none theless at the sight of their stalwart frames and at the thought of what afighting unit he could bring to serve the Raj. 

"All, then, for England!" he exclaimed. 

"Nay, all for thee!" said his eldest-born. "We fight on whichever sidethou sayest!"

"Disloyal one!" growled the Risaldar with a scowl. But he grinned intohis beard. 

"Well, to your homes, then--but be ready!"

I. 

The midnight jackals howled their discontent while heat-crackedIndia writhed in stuffy torment that was only one degree less thanunendurable. Through the stillness and the blackness of the night cameevery now and then the high-pitched undulating wails of women, that noone answered-for, under that Tophet-lid of blackness, punctured by thelow-hung, steel-white stars, men neither knew nor cared whose child haddied. Life and hell-hot torture and indifference--all three were one. 

There was no moon, nothing to make the inferno visible, except that hereand there an oil lamp on some housetop glowed like a blood-spot againstthe blackness. It was a sensation, rather than sight or sound, thatbetrayed the neighborhood of thousands upon thousands of human beings, sprawling, writhing, twisting upon the roofs, in restless suffering. 

There was no pity in the dry, black vault of heaven, nor in the bone-dryearth, nor in the hearts of men, during that hot weather of '57. Menwaited for the threatened wrath to come and writhed and held theirtongues. And while they waited in sullen Asiatic patience, throughthe restless silence and the smell--the suffocating, spice-fed, filth-begotten smell of India--there ran an undercurrent of even deepermystery than India had ever known. 

Priest-ridden Hanadra, that had seen the downfall of a hundred kings, watched through heat-wearied eyes for another whelming the blood-soaked, sudden flood that was to burst the dam of servitude and rid India of herlatest horde of conquerors. But eight hundred yards from where her highbrick walls lifted their age-scars in the stifling reek, gun-chainsjingled in a courtyard, and, sharp-clicking on age-old flagstones, rosethe ring of horses' feet. 

Section Number One of a troop of Bengal Horse Artillery was waitingunder arms. Sabered and grim and ready stood fifty of the finest menthat England could produce, each man at his horse's head; and blackereven than the night loomed the long twelve-pounders, in tow behind theirlimbers. Sometimes a trace-chain jingled as a wheel-horse twitched hisflank; and sometimes a man spoke in a low voice, or a horse stampedon the pavement; but they seemed like black graven images of war-gods, half-smothered in the reeking darkness. And above them, from a windowthat overlooked the courtyard, shone a solitary lamp that glistened hereand there upon the sleek black guns and flickered on the saber-hilts, and deepened the already dead-black atmosphere of mystery. 

From the room above, where the lamp shone behind gauze curtains came thesound of voices; and in the deepest, death-darkest shadow of the doorbelow there stood a man on guard whose fingers clutched his sword-hiltand whose breath came heavily. He stood motionless, save for hisheaving breast; between his fierce, black mustache and his up-brushed, two-pointed beard, his white teeth showed through parted lips. But hegave no other sign that he was not some Rajput princeling's image carvedout of the night. 

He was an old man, though, for all his straight back and militarycarriage. The night concealed his shabbiness; but it failed to hide themedals on his breast, one bronze, one silver, that told of campaignsalready a generation gone. And his patience was another sign of age; ayounger man of his blood and training would have been pacing to and froinstead of standing still. 

He stood still even when footsteps resounded on the winding stair aboveand a saber-ferrule clanked from step to step. The gunners heard andstood squarely to their horses. There was a rustling and a sound ofshifting feet, and, a "Whoa, --you!" to an irritated horse; but theRajput stayed motionless until the footsteps reached the door. Then hetook one step forward, faced about and saluted. 

"Salaam, Bellairs sahib!" boomed his deep-throated voice, and LieutenantBellairs stepped back with a start into the doorway again--one hand onhis sword-hilt. The Indian moved sidewise to where the lamplight fromthe room above could fall upon his face. 

"Salaam, Bellairs sahib!" he boomed again. 

Then the lieutenant recognized him. 

"You, Mahommed Khan!" he exclaimed. "You old war-dog, what brought youhere? Heavens, how you startled me! What good wind brought you?"

"Nay! It seems it was an ill wind, sahib!"

"What ill wind? I'm glad to see you!"

"The breath of rumor, sahib!"

"What rumor brought you?"

"Where a man's honor lies, there is he, in the hour of danger! Is allwell with the Raj, sahib?"

"With the Raj? How d'you mean, Risaldar?"

Mahommed Khan pointed to the waiting guns and smiled. 

"In my days, sahib, " he answered, "men seldom exercised the guns atnight!"

"I received orders more than three hours ago to bring my section in toJundhra immediately--immediately--and not a word of explanation!"

"Orders, sahib? And you wait?"

"They seem to have forgotten that I'm married, and by the same token, so do you! What else could I do but wait? My wife can't ride with thesection; she isn't strong enough, for one thing; and besides, there'sno knowing what this order means; there might be trouble to face of somekind. I've sent into Hanadra to try to drum up an escort for her and I'mwaiting here until it comes. "

The Risaldar stroked at his beard reflectively. 

"We of the service, sahib, " he answered, "obey orders at the gallop whenthey come. When orders come to ride, we ride!"'

Bellairs winced at the thrust. 

"That's all very fine, Risaldar. But how about my wife? What's going tohappen to her, if I leave her here alone and unprotected?"

"Or to me, sahib? Is my sword-arm withered? Is my saber rusted home?"

"You, old friend! D'you mean to tell me--"

The Risaldar saluted him again. 

"Will you stay here and guard her?"

"Nay, sahib! Being not so young as thou art, I know better!"

"What in Tophet do you mean, Mahommed Khan?"

"I mean, sahib, "--the Indian's voice was level and deep, but it vibratedstrangely, and his eyes glowed as though war-lights were being bornagain behind them--"that not for nothing am I come! I heard what thyorders were and--"

"How did you hear what my orders were?"

"My half-brother came hurrying with the news, sahib. I hastened! Myhorse lies dead one kos from Hanadra here!"

The lieutenant laughed. 

"At last, Mahommed? That poor old screw of yours? So he's dead at last, eh? So his time had come at last!"

"We be not all rich men who serve the Raj!" said the Risaldar withdignity. "Ay, sahib, his time was come! And when our time comes may thouand I, sahib, die as he did, with our harness on! What said thy orders, sahib? Haste? Then yonder lies the road, through the archway!"

"But, tell me, Risaldar, what brought you here in such a hurry?"

"A poor old screw, sahib, whose time was come--even as thou hast said!"

"Mahommed Khan, I'm sorry--very sorry, if I insulted you! I--I'mworried--I didn't stop to think. I--old friend, I--"

"It is forgotten, sahib!"

"Tell me--what are these rumors you have heard?"

"But one rumor, sahib-war! Uprising--revolution--treachery--all Indiawaits the word to rise, sahib!"

"You mean--?"

"Mutiny among the troops, and revolution north, south, east and west!"

"Here, too, in Hanadra?"

"Here, too, in Hanadra, sahib! Here they will be among the first torise!"

"Oh, come! I can't believe that! How was it that my orders said nothingof it then?"

"That, sahib, I know not--not having written out thy orders! I heardthat thy orders came. I knew, as I have known this year past, what stormwas brewing. I knew, too, that the heavenborn, thy wife, is here. I amthy servant, sahib, as I was thy father's servant--we serve one Queen;thy honor is my honor. Entrust thy memsahib to my keeping!"

"You will guard her?"

"I will bring her in to Jundhra!"

"You alone?"

"Nay, sahib! I, and my sons, and my sons' sons--thirteen men all told!"

"That is good of you, Mahommed Khan. Where are your sons?"

"Leagues from here, sahib. I must bring them. I need a horse. "

"And while you are gone?"

"My half-brother, sahib--he is here for no other purpose--he will answerto me for her safety!"

"All right, Mahommed Khan, and thank you! Take my second charger, if youcare to; he is a little saddle-sore, but your light weight--"

"Sahib--listen! Between here and Siroeh, where my eldest-born and histhree sons live, lie seven leagues. And on from there to Lungra, wherethe others live, are three more leagues. I need a horse this night!"

"What need of thirteen men, Mahommed? You are sufficient by yourself, unless a rebellion breaks out. If it did, why, you and thirteen otherswould be swamped as surely as you alone!"

"Thy father and I, sahib, rode through the guns at Dera thirteen strong!Alone, I am an old man--not without honor, but of little use; withtwelve young blades behind me, though, these Hindu rabble--"

"Do you really mean, Mahommed Khan, that you think Hanadra here willrise?"

"The moment you are gone, sahib!"

"Then, that settles it! The memsahib rides with me!"

"Nay, listen, sahib! Of a truth, thou art a hot-head as thy father wasbefore thee! Thus will it be better. If the heavenborn, thy wife, staysbehind, these rabble here will think that the section rides out toexercise, because of the great heat of the sun by day; they will watchfor its return, and wait for the parking of the guns before they puttorch to the mine that they have laid!"

"The mine? D'you mean they've--"

"Who knows, sahib? But I speak in metaphor. When the guns are parkedagain and the horses stabled and the men asleep, the rabble, being many, might dare anything!"

"You mean, you think that they--"

"I mean, sahib, that they will take no chances while they think the gunsare likely to return!"

"But, if I take the memsahib with me?"

"They will know then, sahib, that the trap is open and the bird flown!Know you how fast news travels? Faster than the guns, Sahib! Therewill be an ambuscade, from which neither man, nor gun, nor horse, normemsahib will escape!"

"But if you follow later, it will mean the same thing! When they see youride off on a spent horse, with twelve swords and the memsahib--d'youmean that they won't ambuscade you?"

"They might, sahib--and again, they might not! Thirteen men and a womanride faster than a section of artillery, and ride where the guns wouldjam hub-high against a tree-trunk! And thy orders, sahib--are thy ordersnothing?"

"Orders! Yes, confound it! But they know I'm married. They know--"

"Sahib, listen! When the news came to me I was at Siroeh, dangling agreat-grandson on my knee. There were no orders, but it seemed the Rajhad need of me. I rode! Thou, sahib, hast orders. I am here to guard thywife--my honor is thy honor--take thou the guns. Yonder lies the road!"

The grim old warrior's voice thrilled with the throb of loyalty, as hestood erect and pointed to the shadowy archway through which the roadwound to the plain beyond. 

"Sahib, I taught thy father how to use his sword! I nursed theewhen thou wert little. Would I give three false counsel now? Ride, sahib--ride!"

Bellairs turned away and looked at his charger, a big, brown Khaubulistallion, named for the devil and true in temper and courage to hisname; two men were holding him, ten paces off. 

"Such a horse I need this night, Sahib! Thy second charger can keep pacewith the guns!"

Bellairs gave a sudden order, and the men led the brute back into hisstable. 

"Change the saddle to my second charger!" he ordered. 

Then he turned to the Risaldar again, with hand outstretched. 

"I'm ashamed of myself, Mahommed Khan!" he said, with a vain attempt tosmile. "I should have gone an hour ago! Please take my horse Shaitan, and make such disposition for my wife's safety as you see fit. Follow asand when you can; I trust you, and I shall be grateful to you whateverhappens!"

"Well spoken, Sahib! I knew thou wert a man! We who serve the Raj haveneither sons, nor wives, nor sweethearts! Allah guard you, Sahib! Thesection waits--and the Service can not wait!"

"One moment while I tell my wife!"

"Halt, Sahib! Thou hast said good-by a thousand times! A woman'stears--are they heart-meat for a soldier when the bits are champing?Nay! See, sahib; they bring thy second charger! Mount! I will bring thywife to Jundhra for thee! The Service waits!"

The lieutenant turned and mounted. 

"Very well, Mahommed Khan!" he said. "I know you're right! Section!Prepare to mount!" he roared, and the stirrups rang in answer to him. "Mount! Good-by, Mahommed Khan! Good luck to you! Section, right! Trot, march!"

With a crash and the clattering of iron shoes on stone the guns jingledoff into the darkness, were swallowed by the gaping archway and rattledout on the plain. 

The Risaldar stood grimly where he was until the last hoof-beat and bumpof gun-wheel had died away into the distance; then he turned and climbedthe winding stairway to the room where the lamp still shone throughgauzy curtains. 

On a dozen roof-tops, where men lay still and muttered, brown eyesfollowed the movements of the section and teeth that were betel-stainedgrinned hideously. 

From a nearby temple, tight-packed between a hundred crowded houses, came a wailing, high-pitched solo sung to Siva--the Destroyer. And as itdied down to a quavering finish it was followed by a ghoulish laugh thatechoed and reechoed off the age-old city-wall. 

Proud as a Royal Rajput--and there is nothing else on God's green earththat is even half as proud--true to his salt, and stout of heart evenif he was trembling at the knees, Mahommed Khan, two-medal man andRisaldar, knocked twice on the door of Mrs. Lellairs' room, and entered. 

And away in the distance rose the red reflection of a fire ten leaguesaway. The Mutiny of '57 had blazed out of sullen mystery already, thesepoys were burning their barracks half-way on the road to Jundhra!

And down below, to the shadow where the Risaldar had stood, crepta giant of a man who had no military bearing. He listened once, andsneaked into the deepest black within the doorway and crouched andwaited. 

II. 

Hanadra reeks of history, blood-soaked and mysterious. Temples piled onthe site of olden temples; palaces where half-forgotten kings usurpedthe thrones of conquerors who came from God knows where to conquer olderkings; roads built on the bones of conquered armies; houses and palacesand subterranean passages that no man living knows the end of and feweven the beginning. Dark corridors and colonnades and hollow walls;roofs that have ears and peep-holes; floors that are undermined bysecret stairs; trees that have swayed with the weight of rotting humanskulls and have shimmered with the silken bannerets of emperors. Such isHanadra, half-ruined, and surrounded by a wall that was age-old in thedawn of written history. 

Even its environs are mysterious; outside the walls, there are carven, gloomy palaces that once re-echoed to the tinkle of stringed instrumentsand the love-songs of some sultan's favorite--now fallen into ruins, or rebuilt to stable horses or shelter guns and stores and men; buteloquent in all their new-smeared whitewash, or in crumbling decay, oflong-since dead intrigue. No places, those, for strong men to live alonein, where night-breezes whisper through forgotten passages and dry teakplanking recreaks to the memory of dead men's footsteps. 

But strong men are not the only makings of an Empire, nor yet the onlysufferers. Wherever the flag of England flies above a distant outpostor droops in the stagnant moisture of an Eastern swamp, there are thegraves of England's women. The bones that quarreling jackals crunchamong the tombstones--the peace along the clean-kept borderline--thepride of race and conquest and the cleaner pride of work well done, these are not man's only. Man does the work, but he is held to it andcheered on by the girl who loves him. 

And so, above a stone-flagged courtyard, in a room that once had echoedto the laughter of a sultan's favorite, it happened that an Englishgirl of twenty-one was pacing back and forth. Through the open curtainedwindow she had seen her husband lead his command out through the echoingarchway to the plain beyond; she had heard his boyish voice bark out thecommand and had listened to the rumble of the gun-wheels dying in thedistance--for the last time possibly. She knew, as many an English girlhas known, that she was alone, one white woman amid a swarm of sullenAryans, and that she must follow along the road the guns had taken, served and protected by nothing more than low-caste natives. 

And yet she was dry-eyed, and her chin was high; for they are a strangebreed, these Anglo-Saxon women who follow the men they love to thelonely danger-zone. Ruth Bellairs could have felt no joy in herposition; she had heard her husband growling his complaint at beingforced to leave her, and she guessed what her danger was. Fear must haveshrunk her heartbeats and loneliness have tried her courage. But therewas an ayah in the room with her, a low-caste woman of the conqueredrace; and pride of country came to her assistance. She was firm-lippedand, to outward seeming, brave as she was beautiful. 

Even when the door resounded twice to the sharp blow of a saber-hilt, and the ayah's pock-marked ebony took on a shade of gray, she stood likea queen with an army at her back and neither blanched nor trembled. 

"Who is that, ayah?" she demanded. 

The ayah shrank into herself and showed the whites of her eyes andgrinned, as a pariah dog might show its teeth--afraid, but scentingcarrion. 

"Go and see!"

The ayah shuddered and collapsed, babbling incoherencies and calling ona horde of long-neglected gods to witness she was innocent. She clutchedstrangely at her breast and used only one hand to drag her shawl aroundher face. While she babbled she glanced wild-eyed around the long, low-ceilinged room. Ruth Bellairs looked down at her pityingly and wentto the door herself and opened it. 

"Salaam, memsahib!" boomed a deep voice from the darkness. 

Ruth Bellairs started and the ayah screamed. 

"Who are you? Enter--let me see you!"

A black beard and a turban and the figure of a man--and then white teethand a saber-hilt and eyes that gleamed moved forward from the darkness. 

"It is I, Mahommed Khan!" boomed the voice again, and the Risaldarstepped out into the lamplight and closed the door behind him. Then, with a courtly, long-discarded sweep of his right arm, he saluted. 

"At the heavenborn's service!"

"Mahommed Khan! Thank God!"

The old man's shabbiness was very obvious as he faced her, with his backagainst the iron-studded door; but he stood erect as a man of thirty, and his medals and his sword-hilt and his silver scabbard-tip werebright. 

"Tell me, Mahommed Khan, you have seen my husband?"

He bowed. 

"You have spoken to him?"

The old man bowed again. 

"He left you in my keeping, heavenborn. I am to bring you safe toJundhra!"

She held her hand out and he took it like a cavalier, bending until hecould touch her fingers with his lips. 

"What is the meaning of this hurrying of the guns to Jundhra, Risaldar?"

"Who knows, memsahib! The orders of the Sirkar come, and we of theservice must obey. I am thy servant and the Sirkar's!"

"You, old friend--that were servant, as you choose to call it, to myhusband's father! I am a proud woman to have such friends at call!" Shepointed to the ayah, recovering sulkily and rearranging the shawl abouther shoulders. "That I call service, Risaldar. She cowers when a knockcomes at the door! I need you, and you answer a hardly spoken prayer;what is friendship, if yours is not?"

The Risaldar bowed low again. 

"I would speak with that ayah, heavenborn!" he muttered, almost into hisbeard. She could hardly catch the words. 

"I can't get her to speak to me at all tonight, Mahommed Khan. She'sterrified almost out of her life at something. But perhaps you can dobetter. Try. Do you want to question her alone?"

"By the heavenborn's favor, yes. "

Ruth walked down the room toward the window, drew the curtain back andleaned her head out where whatever breeze there was might fan her cheek. The Risaldar strode over to where the ayah cowered by an inner doorway. 

"She-Hindu-dog!" he growled at her. "Mother of whelps! Louse-riddenscavenger of sweepings! What part hast thou in all this treachery?Speak!"

The ayah shrank away from him and tried to scream, but he gripped her bythe throat and shook her. 

"Speak!" he growled again. 

But his ten iron fingers held her in a vise-like grip and she could nothave answered him if she had tried to. 

"O Risaldar!" called Ruth suddenly, with her head still out of thewindow. He released the ayah and let her tumble as she pleased into aheap. 

"Heavenborn?"

"What is that red glow on the skyline over yonder?"

"A burning, heavenborn!"

"A burning? What burning? Funeral pyres? It's very big for funeralpyres!"

"Nay, heavenborn!"

"What, then?"

She was still unfrightened, unsuspicious of the untoward. The Risaldar'sarrival on the scene had quite restored her confidence and she feltcontent to ride with him to Jundhra on the morrow. 

"Barracks, heavenborn!"

"Barracks? What barracks?"

"There is but one barracks between here and Jundhra. "

"Then--then--then--what has happened, Mahommed Khan?"

"The worst has happened, heavenborn!"

He stood between her and the ayah, so that she could not see the womanhuddled on the floor. 

"The worst? You mean then--my--my--husband--you don't mean that myhusband--"

"I mean, heavenborn that there is insurrection! All India is ablaze fromend to end. These dogs here in Hanadra wait to rise because they thinkthe section will return here in an hour or two; then they propose toburn it, men, guns and horses, like snakes in the summer grass. It iswell that the section will not return! We will ride out safely beforemorning!"

"And, my husband--he knew--all this--before he left me here?"

"Nay! That he did not! Had I told him, he had disobeyed his orders andshamed his service; he is young yet, and a hothead! He will be faralong the road to Jundhra before he knows what burns. And then he willremember that he trusts me and obey orders and press on!"

"And you knew and did not tell him!"

"Of a truth I knew!"

She stood in silence for a moment, gazing at the red glow on theskyline, and then turned to read, if she could, what was on the grim, grizzled face of Mahommed Khan. 

"The ayah!" he growled. "I have yet to ask questions of the ayah. Have Ipermission to take her to the other room?"

She was leaning through the window again and did not answer him. 

"Who's that moving in the shadow down below?" she asked him suddenly. 

He leaned out beside her and gazed into the shadow. Then he calledsoftly in a tongue she did not know and some one rose up from the shadowand answered him. 

"Are we spied on, Risaldar?"

"Nay. Guarded, heavenborn! That man is my half-brother. May I take theayah through that doorway?"

"Why not question her in here?"

The mystery and sense of danger were getting the better of her; she wasthoroughly afraid now--afraid to be left alone in the room for a minuteeven. 

"There are things she would not answer in thy presence!"

"Very well. Only, please be quick!"

He bowed. Swinging the door open, he pushed the ayah through it to theroom beyond. Ruth was left alone, to watch the red glow on the skylineand try to see the outline of the watcher in the gloom below. No soundcame through the heavy teak door that the Risaldar had slammed behindhim, and no sound came from him who watched; but from the silence of thenight outside and from dark corners of the room that she was in and fromthe roof and walls and floor here came little eerie noises that made herflesh creep, as though she were being stared at by eyes she could notsee. She felt that she must scream, or die, unless she moved; and shewas too afraid to move, and by far too proud to scream! At last shetore herself away from the window and ran to a low divan and lay on it, smothering her face among the cushions. It seemed an hour before theRisaldar came out again, and then he took her by surprise. 

"Heavenborn!" he said. She looked up with a start, to find him standingclose beside her. 

"Mahommed Khan! You're panting! What ails you?"

"The heat, heavenborn--and I am old. "

His left hand was on his saber-hilt, thrusting it toward herrespectfully; she noticed that it trembled. 

"Have I the heavenborn's leave to lock the ayah in that inner room?"

"Why, Risaldar?"

"The fiend had this in her possession!" He showed her a thin-bladeddagger with an ivory handle; his own hand shook as he held it out toher, and she saw that there were beads of perspiration on his wrist. "She would have killed thee!"

"Oh, nonsense! Why, she wouldn't dare!"

"She confessed before she--she confessed! Have I the heavenborn'sleave?"

"If you wish it. "

"And to keep the key?"

"I suppose so, if you think it wise. "

He strode to the inner door and locked it and hid the key in an insidepocket of his tunic. 

"And now, heavenborn, " he said, "I crave your leave to bring myhalf-brother to the presence!"

He scarcely waited for an answer, but walked to the window, leanedout of it and whistled. A minute later he was answered by the sound offingernails scrabbling on the outer door. He turned the key and openedit. 

"Enter!" he ordered. 

Barefooted and ragged, but as clean as a soldier on parade and with hugeknots of muscles bulging underneath his copper skin, a Rajput entered, bowing his six feet of splendid manhood almost to the floor. 

"This, heavenborn, is my half-brother, son of a low-born border-woman, whom my father chose to honor thus far! The dog is loyal!"

"Salaam!" said Ruth, with little interest. 

"Salaam, memsahib!" muttered the shabby Rajput. "Does any watch?"demanded the Risaldar in Hindustanee. "Aye, one. "

"And he?"

"Is he of whom I spoke. "

"Where watches he?"

"There is a hidden passage leading from the archway; he peeps outthrough a crack, having rolled back so far the stone that seals it. " Heheld his horny fingers about an inch apart to show the distance. 

"Couldst thou approach unseen?"

The Rajput nodded. 

"And there are no others there?"

"No others. "

"Has thy strength left thee, or thy cunning?"

"Nay!"

"Then bring him!"

Without a word in answer the giant turned and went, and the Risaldarmade fast the door behind him. Ruth sat with her face between her hands, trying not to cry or shudder, but obsessed and overpowered by a senseof terror. The mystery that surrounded her was bad enough; but thismysterious ordering and coming to and fro among her friends was worsethan horrible. She knew, though, that it would be useless to questionMahommed Khan before he chose to speak. They waited there in the dimlylighted room for what seemed tike an age again; she, pale and torturedby weird imaginings; he, grim and bolt-upright like a statue of awarrior. Then sounds came from the stairs again and the Risaldar hurriedto the door and opened it. 

In burst the Risaldar's half-brother, breathing heavily and bearing aload nearly as big as he was. 

"The pig caught my wrist within the opening!" he growled, tossing hisgagged and pinioned burden on the floor. "See where he all but brokeit!"

"What is thy wrist to the service of the Raj? Is he the right one?"

"Aye!" He stooped and tore a twisted loin-cloth from his victim's face, and the Risaldar walked to the lamp and brought it, to hold it above theprostrate form. Ruth left the divan and stood between the men, terrifiedby she knew not what fear, but drawn into the lamplight by insuperablecuriosity. 

"This, heavenborn, " said the Risaldar, prodding at the man with hisscabbard-point, "is none other than the High Priest of Kharvani's templehere, the arch-ringleader in all the treachery afoot--now hostage forthy safety!"

He turned to his half-brother. "Unbind the thing he lies with!" hecommanded, and the giant unwrapped a twisted piece of linen from theHigh Priest's mouth. 

"So the big fox peeped through the trapdoor, because he feared totrust the other foxes; and the big fox fell into the trap!" grinned theRisaldar. "Bring me that table over yonder, thou!"

The half-brother did as he was told. 

"Lay it here, legs upward, on the floor. 

"Now, bind him to it--an arm to a leg and a leg to a leg. 

"Remove his shoes. 

"Put charcoal in yon brazier. Light it. Bring it hither!"

He seized a brass tongs, chose a glowing coal and held it six inchesfrom the High Priest's naked foot. 

Ruth screamed. 

"Courage, heavenborn! Have courage! This is naught to what he would havedone to thee!. . . Now, speak, thou priest of infidels! What plans arelaid and who will rise and when?"

III. 

"Sergeant!"

"Sir!"

The close-cropped, pipe-clayed non-commissioned officer spurred hishorse into a canter until his scabbard clattered at young Bellairs'boot. Nothing but the rattling and the jolting of the guns andammunition-wagon was audible, except just on ahead of them theclick-clack, click-click-clack of the advance-guard. To the right andleft of them the shadowy forms of giant banian-trees loomed and slidpast them as they had done for the past four hours, and for ten pacesahead they could see the faintly outlined shape of the trunk road thatthey followed. The rest was silence and a pall of blackness obscuringeverything. They had ridden along a valley, but they had emerged onrising ground and there was one spot of color in the pall now, or else ahole in it. 

"What d'you suppose that is burning over there?"

"I couldn't say, sir. "

"How far away is it?"

"Very hard to tell on a night like this, sir. It might be ten milesaway and might be twenty. By my reckoning it's on our road, though, andsomewhere between here and Jundhra. "

"So it seems to me; our road swings round to the right presently, doesn't it? That'll lead us right to it. That would make it Doonha moreor less. D'you suppose it's at Doonha?"

"I was thinking it might be, sir. If it's Doonha, it means that thesepoy barracks and all the stores are burning--there's nothing elsethere that would make all that flame!"

"There are two companies of the Thirty-third there, too. "

"Yes, sir, but they're under canvas; tents would blaze up, but they'ddie down again in a minute. That fire's steady and growing bigger!"

"It's the sepoy barracks, then!"

"Seems so to me, sir!"

"Halt!" roared Bellairs. The advance-guard kicked up a little showerof sparks, trace-chains slacked with a jingle and the jolting ceased. Bellairs rode up to the advance-guard. 

"Now, Sergeant, " he ordered, "it looks as though that were the Doonhabarracks burning over yonder. There's no knowing, though, what it is. Send four men on, two hundred yards ahead of you, and you and the restkeep a good two hundred yards ahead of the guns. See that the men keepon the alert, and mind that they spare their horses as much as possible. If there's going to be trouble, we may just as well be ready for it!"

"Very good, sir!"

"Go ahead, then!"

At a word from the sergeant, four men clattered off and were swallowedin the darkness. A minute later the advance-guard followed them andthen, after another minute's pause, young Bellairs' voice was raisedinto a ringing shout again. 

"Section, advance! Trot, march!"

The trace-chains tightened, and the clattering, bumping, jinglingprocession began again, its rear brought up by the six-horseammunition-wagon. They rode speechless for the best part of an hour, each man's eyes on the distant conflagration that had begun now to lightup the whole of the sky ahead of them. They still rode in darkness, butthey seemed to be approaching the red rim of the Pit. Huge, billowingclouds of smoke, red-lit on the under side, belched upward to theblackness overhead, and a something that was scarcely sound--for it wasyet too distant--warned them that it was no illusion they were ridinginto. The conflagration grew. It seemed to be nearly white-hot downbelow. 

Bellairs wet his finger and held it extended upward. 

"There's no wind that I can feel!" he muttered. "And yet, if that werea grass-fire, there'd be game and rats and birds and things--some of 'emwould bolt this way. That's the Doonha barracks burning or I'm a blackman, which the Lord forbid!"

A minute later, every man in the section pricked up his ears. Therewas no order given; but a sensation ran the whole length of it and amovement from easy riding to tense rigidity that could be felt by somesixth sense. Every man was listening, feeling, groping with his sensesfor something he could neither hear as yet nor see, but that he knew wasthere. And then, far-distant yet--not above, but under the jolting ofthe gun-wheels and the rattle of the scabbards--they could hear theclickety-clickety-clickety-click of a horse hard-ridden. 

They had scarcely caught that sound, they had barely tightened up theirbridle-reins, when another sound, one just as unmistakable, burst out infront of them. A ragged, ill-timed volley ripped out from somewherenear the conflagration and was answered instantly by one that wasclose-ripped like the fire of heavy ordnance. And then one of theadvance-guard wheeled his horse and drove his spurs home rowel-deep. Hecame thundering back along the road with his scabbard out in the windbehind him and reined up suddenly when his horse's forefeet were abreastof the lieutenant. 

"There's some one coming, sir, hard as he can gallop! He's one of ourmen by the sound of him. His horse is shod--and I thought I saw steelwhen the fire-light fell on him a minute ago!"

"Are you sure there's only one?"

"Sure, sir! You can hear him now!"

"All right! Fall in behind me!"

Bellairs felt his sword-hilt and cocked a pistol stealthily, but he gaveno orders to the section. This might be a native soldier run amuck, andit might be a messenger; but in either case, friend or foe, if there wasonly one man he could deal with him alone. 

"Halt!" roared the advance-guard suddenly. But the horse's hoof-beatsnever checked for a single instant. 

"Halt, you! Who comes there?"

"Friend!" came the answer, in an accent that was unmistakable. 

"What friend? Where are you going?"

One of the advance-guard reined his horse across the road. The othersfollowed suit and blocked the way effectually. "Halt!" they roared inunison. 

The main body of the advance came up with them. 

"Who is he?" shouted the sergeant. 

"We'll soon see! Here he comes!"

"Out of my way!" yelled a voice, as a foamed-flecked horse burst out ofthe darkness like an apparition and bore straight down on them--his headbored a little to one side, the red rims of his nostrils wide distendedand his whole sense and energy, and strength concentrated on pleasingthe speed-hungry Irishman who rode him. He flashed into them head-on, like a devil from the outer darkness. His head touched a man's knee--andhe rose and tried to jump him! His breast crashed full into theobstruction and horse and gunner crashed down to the road. 

A dozen arms reached out--twelve horses surged in a clatteringmelee--two hands gripped the reins and four arms seized the rider, and in a second the panting charger was brought up all-standing. Thesergeant thrust his grim face closer and peered at their capture. 

"Good--, if it ain't an officer!" he exclaimed. "I beg your pardon, sir!"

And at that instant the section rattled, up behind them, with Bellairsin the lead. 

"Halt!" roared Bellairs. "What's this?"

"Bloody murder, arson, high treason, mutiny and death! Blood and onions, man! Don't your men know an officer when they see one? Who are you? Areyou Bellairs? Then why in God's name didn't you say so sooner? What haveyou waited for?

"How many hours is it since you got the message through from Jundhra?Couldn't you see the barracks burning? Who am I--I'm Captain O'Rourke, of the Thirty-third, sent to see what you're doing on the road, that'swho I am! A full-fledged; able-bodied captain wasted in a crisis, justbecause you didn't choose to hurry! Poison take your confounded gunners, sir! Have they nothing better to engage them than holding up officers onthe Queen's trunk road?"

"Supposing you tell me what's the matter?" suggested young Bellairs, prompt as are most of his breed to appear casual the moment there wascause to feel excited. 

"Your gunners have taken all my breath, sir. I can't speak!"

"You shouldn't take chances with a section of artillery! They're notlike infantry--they don't sleep all the time--you can't ride throughthem as a rule!"

"Don't sleep, don't they! Then what have you been doing on the road? Andwhat are you standing here for? Ride, man, ride! You're wanted!"

"Get out of the way, then!" suggested Bellairs, and Captain O'Rourkelegged his panting charger over to the roadside. 

"Advance-guard, forward, trot!" commanded the lieutenant. 

"Have you brought your wife with you?" demanded O'Rourke, peering intothe jingling blackness. 

"No. Of course not. Why?"

"'Of course not! Why?' says the man! Hell and hot porridge! Why, thewhole of India's ablaze from end to end--the sepoys have mutinied to aman, and the rest have joined them! There's bloody murder doing--they'veshot their officers--Hammond's dead and Carstairs and Welfleet andheaven knows who else. They've burned their barracks and the stores andthey're trying to seize the magazine. If they get that, God help everyone. They're short of ammunition as it is, but two companies of theThirty-third can't hold out for long against that horde. You'll be inthe nick of time! Hurry, man! For the love of anything you like to name, get a move on!"

IV. 

"Trot, march!

"Canter!"

Bellairs was thinking of his wife, alone in Hanadra, unprotected exceptby a sixty-year-old Risaldar and a half-brother who was a civilian andan unknown quantity. There were cold chills running down his spine anda sickening sensation in his stomach. He rode ahead of the guns, withO'Rourke keeping pace beside him. He felt that he hated O'Rourke, hatedeverything, hated the Service, and the country--and the guns, that couldput him into such a fiendish predicament. 

O'Rourke broke silence first. 

"Who is with your wife?" he demanded suddenly. 

"Heaven knows! I left her under the protection of Risaldar MahommedKhan, but he was to ride off for an escort for her. "

"Not your father's old Risaldar?" asked O'Rourke. 

"The same. "

"Then thank God! I'd sooner trust him than I would a regiment. He'llbring her in alive or slit the throats of half Asia--maybe 'he'll doboth! Come, that's off our minds! She's safer with him than she would behere. Have you lots of ammunition?"

"I brought all I had with me at Hanadra. "

"Good! What you'll need tonight is grape!"

"I've lots of it. It's nearly all grape. "

"Hurrah! Then we'll treat those dirty mutineers to a dose or two ofpills they won't fancy! Come on, man--set the pace a little faster!"

"Why didn't my orders say anything about a mutiny or bringing in mywife?"

"Dunno! I didn't write 'em. I can guess, though. There'd be somethinglike nine reasons. For one thing, they'd credit you with sense enough tobring her in without being told. For another, the messenger who took thenote might have got captured on the way--they wouldn't want to tellthe sepoys more than they could help. Then there'd be something like ahurry. They're attacked there too--can't even send us assistance. Toldus to waylay you and make use of you. Maybe they forgot your wife--maybethey didn't. It's a devil of a business anyhow!"

It was difficult to talk at the speed that they were making, with theirown horses breathing heavily, O'Rourke's especially; the guns thunderingalong behind them and the advance-guard clattering in front, and theirattention distracted every other minute by the noise of volleys on aheadand the occasional staccato rattle of independent firing. The wholesky was now alight with the reflection of the burning barracks and theycould see the ragged outlines of the cracking walls silhouetted againstthe blazing red within. One mile or less from the burning buildings theycould see, too, the occasional flash of rifles where the two companiesof the Thirty-third, Honorable East India Company's Light Infantry, heldout against the mutineers. 

"Why did they mutiny?" asked Bellairs. 

"God knows! Nobody knows! Nobody knows anything! I'm thinking--"

"Thinking what?"

"Forrester-Carter is commanding. We'll settle this business prettyquickly, now you've come. Then--Steady, boy! Steady! Hold up! This poorhorse of mine is just about foundered, by the feel of him. He'll reachDoonha, though. Then we'll ask Carter to make a dash on Hanadra andbring Mrs. Bellairs--maybe we'll meet her and the Risaldar half-way--whoknows? The sepoys wouldn't expect that, either. The move'd puzzle'em--it'd be a good move, to my way of thinking. "

"Let's hope Carter will consent!" prayed Bellairs fervently. "Now, what's the lay of things?"

"Couldn't tell you! When I left, our men were surrounded. I had to burstthrough the enemy to get away. Ours are all around the magazine andthe sepoys are on every side of them. You'll have to use diagonal fireunless you want to hurt some of our chaps--sweep 'em cornerwise. There'shigh ground over to the right there, within four hundred yards of theposition. Maybe they're holding it, though--there's no knowing!"

They could hear the roar of the flames now, and could see the figuresof sepoys running here and there. The rattle of musketry was incessant. They could hear howls and yells and bugle-calls blown at random by thesepoys, and once, in answer as it seemed to a more than usually savagechorus from the enemy--a chorus that was punctuated by a raging din ofintermittent rifle-fire--a ringing cheer. 

"They must be in a tight hole!" muttered Bellairs. "Answer that, men!All together, now! Let 'em know we're coming. "

The men rose in their stirrups all together, and sent roaring throughthe blackness the deep-throated "Hip-hip-hur-r-a-a-a-a-a!" that hasgladdened more than one beleaguered British force in the course ofhistory. It is quite different from the "Hur-o-a-o-a-u-r-rh" of aforlorn hope, or the high-pitched note of pleasure that signals the endof a review. It means "Hold on, till we get there, boys!" and it carriesits meaning, clear and crisp and unmistakable, in its note. 

The two beleaguered companies heard it and answered promptly withanother cheer. 

"By gad, they must be in a hole!" remarked Bellairs. 

British soldiers do not cheer like that, all together, unless there isvery good reason to feel cheerless. They fight, each man according tohis temperament, swearing or laughing, sobbing or singing comic songs, until the case looks grim. Then, though, the same thrill runs throughthe whole of them, the same fire blazes in their eyes, and the lastditch that they line has been known to be a grave for the enemy. 

"Trumpeter! Sound close-order!"

The trumpet rang. The advance-guard drew rein for the section to catchup. The guns drew abreast of one another and the mounted gunners formedin a line, two deep, in front of them. The ammunition-wagon trailed likea tail behind. 

"That high ground over there, I think!" suggested O'Rourke. 

"Thank you, sir. Section, right! Trot, march! Canter!"

Crash went the guns and the following wagon across the roadside ditch. The tired horses came up to the collar as service-horses always will, generous to the last ounce of strength they have in them. 

"Gallop!"

The limbers bumped and jolted and the short-handled whips cracked likethe sound of pistol-practise. Blind, unreconnoitered, grim--like a blackthunderbolt loosed into the blackness--the two guns shot along ahollow, thundered up a ridge and burst into the fire-light up above themutineers, in the last place where any one expected them. A howl camefrom the road that they had left, a hundred sepoys had rushed down toblock their passage the moment that their cheer had rung above the noiseof battle. 

"Action--front!" roared young Bellairs, and the muzzles swung round atthe gallop, jerked into position by the wheeling teams. 

"With case, at four hundred!"

The orders were given and obeyed almost before the guns had lost theirmotion. The charges had been rammed into the greedy muzzles before thehorses were away, almost--and that takes but a second--the horses vanishlike blown smoke when the game begins. A howl from the mutineers toldthat they were seen; a volley from the British infantry announced thatthey were yet in time; and "boom-boom!" went both guns together. 

The grapeshot whined and shrieked, and the ranks of the sepoys wilted, mown down as though a scythe had swept them. Once, and once only, theygathered for a charge on the two guns; but they were met half-way up therise by a shrieking blast of grape that ripped through them and took theheart out of them; and the grape was followed by well-aimed volleys frombehind. Then they drew off to sulk and make fresh plans at a distance, and Bellairs took his section unmolested into the Thirty-third-linedrampart round the magazine. 

"What kept you, sir?" demanded Colonel Forrester-Carter, nodding to himin answer to his salute and holding out his right arm while a sergeantbandaged it. 

"My wife, sir--I--"

"Where is she? Didn't you bring her?"

"No, sir--I--"

"Where is she?"

"Still at Hanadra, sir--I--"

"Let the men fall in! Call the roll at once!"

"There was nothing in my orders, sir, about--" But Colonel Carter cuthim short with a motion and turned his back on him. 

"Much obliged, Sergeant, " he said, slipping his wounded arm into animprovised sling. "How many wagons have we here?"

"Four, sir. "

"And horses?"

"All shot dead except your charger, sir. "

"Oh! Ask Captain Trevor to come here. "

The sergeant disappeared into the shadows, and a moment later CaptainTrevor came running up and saluted. 

"There are seven wounded, sir, and nineteen dead, " he reported. 

"Better than I had hoped, Trevor! Will you set a train to that magazine, please, and blow it up the moment we are at a safe distance?"

Trevor seemed surprised, but he saluted and said nothing. 

"O'Rourke! Please see about burying the dead at once. Mr. Bellairs, letme have two horses, please, and their drivers, from each gun. Sergeant!See about putting the wounded into the lightest of the wagons andharness in four gun-horses the best way you can manage. "

"Very good, sir. "

"Which is your best horseman, Mr. Bellairs? Is his horse comparativelyfresh? I'll need him to gallop with a message. I'll dictate it toCaptain O'Rourke as soon as he is ready. Let the gunner stay here closeto me. "

Bellairs sought out his best man and the freshest-seeming horse inwondering silence. He felt sick with anxiety, for what could one loneveteran Risaldar do to protect Mrs. Bellairs against such a horde aswas in Hanadra? He looked at the barracks, which were still blazingheavenward and illuminating the whole country-side, and shuddered as hewondered whether his quarters at Hanadra were in flames yet. 

"It's a good job old Carter happened to be here!" he heard one of hismen mumble to another. "He's a man, that is--I'd sooner fight under himthan any I know of!"

"What d'you suppose the next move is?" asked the other man. 

"I'd bet on it! I'll bet you what you like that--"

But Bellairs did not hear the rest. 

A bugle rang out into the night. The gunners stood by their horses. Eventhe sentries, posted outside the rampart to guard against alarm, stoodto attention, and Colonel Carter, wincing from the pain in his rightarm, walked out in front of where the men were lined up. 

Captain O'Rourke walked up and saluted him. 

"I've arranged to bury them in that trench we dug this evening, sir, when the trouble started. It's not very deep, but it holds them all. I've laid them in it. "

"Are you sure they're all dead?"

"I've burnt their fingers with matches, sir. I don't know of any betterway to make sure. "

"Very well. Can you remember any of the burial service?"

"'Fraid not, sir. "

"Um! That's a pity. And I'm afraid I can't spare the time. Take afiring-party, Captain O'Rourke, and give them the last honors, at allevents. "

A party marched away toward the trench, and several minutes laterO'Rourke's voice was heard calling through the darkness, "All ready, sir!"

"Present arms!" ordered the colonel, and the gunners sat their horseswith their hilts raised to their hips and the two long lines of infantrystood rigid at the general salute, while five volleys--bulleted--barkedupward above the grave. They were, answered by sniping from themutineers, who imagined that reprisals had commenced. 

"Now, men!" said Colonel Carter, raising his voice until every officerand man along the line could hear him, "as you must have realized, things are very serious indeed. We are cut off from support, but nowthat the guns are here to help us, we could either hold out here untilrelieved or else fight our way into Jundhra, where I have no doubt weare very badly needed. But"--he spoke more slowly and distinctly now, with a distinct pause between each word--"there is an officer's ladyalone, and practically unprotected at Hanadra. Our duty is clear. Youare tired--I know it. You have had no supper, and will get none. Itmeans forced marching for the rest of this night and a good part oftomorrow and more fighting, possibly on an empty stomach; it means thedust and the heat and the discomfort of the trunk road for all of us anddanger of the worst kind instead of safety--for we shall have farther togo to reach Jundhra. But I would do the same, and you men all know it, for any soldier's wife in my command, or any English woman in India. Wewill march now on Hanadra. No! No demonstrations, please!"

His uplifted left hand was just in time to check a roar of answeringapproval. 

"Didn't I tell you so?" exclaimed a gunner to the man beside him in anundertone. "Him leave a white woman to face this sort o' music? He'dfight all India first!"

Ten minutes later two companies of men marched out behind the guns, followed by a cart that bore their wounded. As they reached the trunkroad they were saluted by a reverberating blast when the magazine thatthey had fought to hold blew skyward. They turned to cheer the explosionand then settled down to march in deadly earnest and, if need be, tofight a rear-guard action all the way. 

And in the opposite direction one solitary gunner rode, hell-bent-for-leather, with a note addressed to "O. C. --Jundhra. " It wasshort and to the point. It ran:

 Have blown up magazine; Mrs. Bellairs at Hanadra; have gone to rescue her. (Signed) A. FORRESTER-CARTER (Col. ) per J. O'Rourke

V. 

The red glow of barracks burning--an ayah from whom a dagger hasbeen taken locked in another room--the knowledge that there are fiftythousand Aryan brothers, itching to rebel, within a stone's throw--andtwo lone protectors of an alien race intent on torturing a High Priest, each and every one of these is a disturbing feature. No woman, and leastof all a young woman such as Ruth Bellairs, can be blamed for beingnervous under the stress of such conditions or for displaying a certainamount of feminine unreasonableness. 

She stood shivering for a minute and watched spellbound while MahommedKhan held the hot coal closer and even closer to the High Priest's nakedfoot. The priest writhed in anticipation of the agony and turned hiseyes away, and as he turned them they met Ruth's. High priests of areligion that includes sooth-saying and prophecy and bribery of godsamong its rites are students of human nature, and especially of femalehuman nature. Knowledge of it and of how it may be gulled, and when, is the first essential of their calling. Her pale face, her blue eyesstrained in terror, the parted lips and the attitude of tension, thesegave him an idea. Before the charcoal touched him, he screamed--screamedlike a wounded horse. 

"Mahommed Khan, stop! Stop this instant! I won't have it! I won't havemy life, even, on those terms! D'you hear me, sir!"

"Have courage, heavenborn! There is but one way to force a Hindu priest, unless it be by cutting off his revenues--he must be hurt! This dog isunhurt as yet--see! The fire has not yet touched his foot!"

"Don't let it, Mahommed Khan! Set that iron down! This is my room. Iwill not have crime committed here!"

"And how long does the heavenborn think it would be her room were thisevil-living pig of a priest at large, or how long before a worse crimewere committed? Heavenborn, the hour is late and the charcoal dies outrapidly when it has left the fire! See. I must choose another piece!"

He rummaged in the brazier, and she screamed again. 

"I will not have it, Risaldar! You must find another way. "

"Memsahib! Thy husband left thee in my care. Surely it is my right tochoose the way?"

"Leave me, then! I relieve you of your trust. I will not have himtortured in my room, or anywhere!"

Mahommed Khan bowed low. 

"Under favor, heavenborn, " he answered, "my trust is to your husband. Ican be released by him, or by death, not otherwise. "

"Once, and for all, Mahommed Khan, I will not have you torture him inhere!"

"Memsahib, I have yet to ride for succor! At daybreak, when these Hinduslearn that the guns will not come back, they will rise to a man. Evennow we must find a hiding-place or--it is not good even to think what Imight find on my return!"

He leaned over the priest again, but without the charcoal this time. 

"Speak, thou!" he ordered, growling in Hindustanee through his savageblack mustache. "I have yet to hear what price a Hindu sets on immunityfrom torture!"

But the priest, it seemed, had formed a new idea. He had been lookingthrough puckered eyes at Ruth, keen, cool calculation in his glance, andin spite of the discomfort of his strained position he contrived to nod. 

"Kharvani!" he muttered, half aloud. 

"Aye! Call on Kharvani!" sneered the Risaldar. "Perhaps the Bride ofSivi will appear! Call louder!"

He stirred again among the charcoal with his tongs, and Ruth and theHigh Priest both shuddered. 

"Look!" said the High Priest in Hindustanee, nodding in Ruth'sdirection. It was the first word that he had addressed to them. Ittook them by surprise, and the Risaldar and his half-brother turned andlooked. Their breath left them. 

Framed in the yellow lamplight, her thin, hot-weather garments drapedabout her like a morning mist, Ruth stood and stared straight back atthem through frightened eyes. Her blue-black hair, which had becomeloosened in her excitement, hung in a long plait over one shoulder andgleamed in the lamp's reflection. Her skin took on a faintly goldencolor from the feeble light, and her face seemed stamped with fear, anxiety, pity and suffering, all at once, that strangely enhanced herbeauty, silhouetted as she was against the blackness of the wall behind, she seemed to be standing in an aura, shimmering with radiated light. 

"Kharvani!" said the High Priest to himself again, and the two Rajputsstood still like men dumfounded, and stared and stared and stared. They knew Kharvani's temple. Who was there in Hanadra, Christian orMohammedan or Hindu, who did not? The show-building of the city, theancient, gloomy, wonderful erection where bats lived in the dome andflitted round Kharvani's image, the place where every one must go whoneeded favors of the priests, the central hub of treason and intrigue, where every plot was hatched and every rumor had its origin--theultimate, mazy, greedy, undisgorging goal of every bribe and everyblackmail-wrung rupee!

They knew, too, as every one must know who has ever been inside theplace, the amazing, awe-inspiring picture of Kharvani painted on theinner wall; of Kharvani as she was idealized in the days when priestsbelieved in her and artists thought the labor of a lifetime wellemployed in painting but one picture of her--Kharvani the sorrowful, grieving for the wickedness of earth; Kharvani, Bride of Siva, ready tointercede with Siva, the Destroyer, for the helpless, foolish, purblindsons of man. 

And here, before them, stood Kharvani--to the life!

"What of Kharvani?" growled Mahommed Khan. 

"'A purblind fool, a sot and a Mohammedan, "' quoted the priestmaliciously, "'how many be they, three or one?'"

The Risaldar's hand went to his scabbard. His sword licked out free andtrembled like a tuning-fork. He flicked with his thumbnail at the bladeand muttered: "Sharp! Sharp as death itself!"

The Hindu grinned, but the blade came down slowly until the point of itrested on the bridge of his nose. His eyes squinted inward, watching it. 

"Now, make thy gentle joke again!" growled the Risaldar. Ruth Bellairschecked a scream. 

"No blood!" she exclaimed. "Don't hurt him, Risaldar! I'll not have youkill a man in here--or anywhere, in cold blood, for that matter! Returnyour sword, sir!"

The Risaldar swore into his beard. The High Priest grinned again. "I amnot afraid to die!" he sneered. "Thrust with that toy of thine! Thrusthome and make an end!"

"Memsahib!" said the Risaldar, "all this is foolishness and wasteof time! The hour is past midnight and I must be going. Leave theroom--leave me and my half-brother with this priest for five shortminutes and we will coax from him the secret of some hiding-place whereyou may lie hid until I come!"

"But you'll hurt him!"

"Not if he speaks, and speaks the truth!"

"Promise me!"

"On those conditions--yes!"

"Where shall I go?"

The Risaldar's eyes glanced toward the door of the inner room, but hehesitated. "Nay! There is the ayah!" he muttered. "Is there no otherroom?"

"No, Risaldar, no other room except through that door. Besides, I wouldrather stay here! I am afraid of what you may do to that priest if Ileave you alone with him!"

"Now a murrain on all women, black and white!" swore Mahommed Khanbeneath his breath. Then he turned on the priest again, and placed onefoot on his stomach. 

"Speak!" he ordered. "What of Kharvani?"

"Listen, Mahommed Khan!" Ruth Bellairs laid one hand on his sleeve, andtried to draw him back. "Your ways are not my ways! You are a soldierand a gentleman, but please remember that you are of a different race!I can not let my life be saved by the torture of a human being--no, noteven of a Hindu priest! Maybe it's all right and honorable according toyour ideas; but, if you did it, I would never be able to look my husbandin the face again! No, Risaldar! Let this priest go, or leave himhere--I don't care which, but don't harm him! I am quite ready to ridewith you, now, if you like. I suppose you have horses? But I wouldrather die than think that a man was put to the torture to save me! Lifeisn't worth that price!"

She spoke rapidly, urging him with every argument she knew; but the grimold Mohammedan shook his head. 

"Better die here, " he answered her, "than on the road! No, memsahib. With thirteen blades behind me, I could reach Jundhra, or at least makea bold attempt; but single-handed, and with you to guard, the feat isimpossible. This dog of a Hindu here knows of some hiding-place. Let himspeak!"

His hand went to his sword again, and his eyes flashed. 

"Listen, heavenborn! I am no torturer of priests by trade! It is not mylife that I would save!"

"I know that, Mahommed Khan! I respect your motive. It's the method thatI can't tolerate. "

The Risaldar drew his arm away from her and began to pace the room. The High Priest instantly began to speak to Ruth, whispering to herhurriedly in Hindustanee, but she was too little acquainted with thelanguage to understand him. 

"And I, " said the Risaldar's half-brother suddenly, "am I of no furtheruse?"

"I had forgotten thee!" exclaimed the Risaldar. 

They spoke together quickly in their own language, drawing aside andmuttering to each other. It was plain that the half-brother wasmaking some suggestion and that the Risaldar was questioning him andcross-examining him about his plan, but neither Ruth nor the High Priestcould understand a word that either of them said. At the end of twominutes or more, the Risaldar gave an order of some kind and thehalf-brother grunted and left the room without another word, closingthe door noiselessly behind him. The Risaldar locked it again from theinside and drew the bolt. 

"We have made another plan, heavenborn!" he announced mysteriously. 

"Then--then--you won't hurt this priest?"

"Not yet, " said the Risaldar. "He may be useful!"

"Won't you unbind him, then? Look! His wrists and ankles are allswollen. "

"Let the dog swell!" he grunted. 

But Ruth stuck to her point and made him loosen the bonds a little. 

"A man lives and learns!" swore the Risaldar. "Such as he were castinto dungeons in my day, to feed on their own bellies until they had hadenough of life!"

"The times have changed!" said Ruth. 

The Risaldar looked out through the window toward the red glow on thesky-line. 

"Ha! Changed, have they!" he muttered. "I saw one such burning, oncebefore!"

VI. 

The most wonderful thing in history, pointing with the surest finger tothe trail of destiny, has been the fact that in every tremendous crisisthere have been leaders on the spot to meet it. It is not so wonderfulthat there should be such men, for the world keeps growing better, andit is more than likely that the men who have left their footprints inthe sands of time would compare to their own disadvantage with theircompeers of today. The wonderful thing is that the right men have beenin the right place at the right time. Scipio met Hannibal; Philipof Spain was forced to meet Howard of Effingham and Drake; NapoleonBonaparte, the "Man of Destiny, " found Wellington and Nelson of the Nileto deal with him; and, in America, men like George Washington and Grantand Lincoln seem, in the light of history, like timed, calculated, controlling devices in an intricate machine. It was so when the IndianMutiny broke out. The struggle was unexpected. A handful of Europeans, commissioned and enlisted in the ordinary way, with a view to trade, notstatesmanship, found themselves face to face at a minute's notice witharmed and vengeful millions. Succor was a question of months, not daysor weeks. India was ablaze from end to end with rebel fires that hadbeen planned in secret through silent watchful years. The British forcewas scattered here and there in unconnected details, and each detailwas suddenly cut off from every other one by men who had been trained tofight by the British themselves and who were not afraid to die. 

The suddenness with which the outbreak came was one of the chief assetsof the rebels, for they were able to seize guns and military stores andammunition at the very start of things, before the British force couldconcentrate. Their hour could scarcely have been better chosen. TheCrimean War was barely over. Practically the whole of England's standingarmy was abroad and decimated by battle and disease. At home, politicshad England by the throat; the income-tax was on a Napoleonic scale andmen were more bent on worsting one another than on equipping armies. They had had enough of war. 

India was isolated, at the rebels' mercy, so it seemed. There were norailway trains to make swift movements of troops possible. Distanceswere reckoned by the hundred miles--of sun-baked, thirsty dust inthe hot weather, and of mud in the rainy season. There were notelegraph-wires, and the British had to cope with the mysterious, and even yet unsolved, native means of sending news--the so-called"underground route, " by which news and instructions travel faster thana pigeon flies. There was never a greater certainty or a more one-sidedstruggle, at the start. The only question seemed to be how many days, or possibly weeks, would pass before jackals crunched the bones of everyEnglishman in India. 

But at the British helm was Nicholson, and under him were a hundredother men whose courage and resource had been an unknown quantity untilthe outbreak came. Nicholson's was the guiding spirit, but it neededonly his generalship to fire all the others with that grim enthusiasmthat has pulled Great Britain out of so many other scrapes. Instead ofwasting time in marching and countermarching to relieve the scatteredposts, a swift, sudden swoop was made on Delhi, where the eggs of therebellion had hatched. 

As many of the outposts as could be reached were told to fight theirown way in, and those that could not be reached were left to defendthemselves until the big blow had been struck at the heart of things. If Delhi could be taken, the rebels would be paralyzed and the rescue ofbeleaguered details would be easier; so, although odds of one hundredor more to one are usually considered overlarge in wartime--when thehundred hold the fort and the one must storm the gate--there was no timelost in hesitation. Delhi was the goal; and from north and south andeast and west the men who could march marched, and those who could notentrenched themselves, and made ready to die in the last ditch. 

Some of the natives were loyal still. There were men like RisaldarMahommed Khan, who would have died ten deaths ten times over rather thanbe false in one particular to the British Government. It was these menwho helped to make intercommunication possible, for they could carrymessages and sometimes get through unsuspected where a British soldierwould have been shot before he had ridden half a mile. Their loyalty wasput to the utmost test in that hour, for they can not have believedthat the British force could win. They knew the extent of what was outagainst them and knew, too, what their fate would be in the event ofcapture or defeat. There would be direr, slower vengeance wreaked onthem than on the alien British. But they had eaten British salt andpledged their word, and nothing short of death could free them from it. There was not a shred of self interest to actuate them; there could nothave been. Their given word was law and there it ended. 

There were isolated commands, like that at Jundhra, that were too faraway to strike at Delhi and too large and too efficient to be shut in bythe mutineers. They were centers on their own account of isolated smalldetachments, and each commander was given leave to act as he saw best, provided that he acted and did it quickly. He could either march to therelief of his detachments or call them in, but under no condition was heto sit still and do nothing. 

So, Colonel Carter's note addressed to O. C. --Jundhra only gottwo-thirds of the way from Doonha. The gunner who rode with it wasbrought to a sudden standstill by an advance-guard of British cavalry, and two minutes later he found himself saluting and giving up his noteto the General Commanding. The rebels at Jundhra had been worsted andscattered after an eight-hour fight, and General Turner had made up hismind instantly to sweep down on Hanadra with all his force and relievethe British garrison at Doonha on his way. 

Jundhra was a small town and unhealthy. Hanadra was a large city, thecenter of a province; and, from all accounts, Hanadra had not risen yet. By seizing Hanadra before the mutineers had time to barricade themselvesinside it, he could paralyze the countryside, for in Hanadra were themoney and provisions and, above all, the Hindu priests who, in thatpart of India at least, were the brains of the rebellion. So he burnedJundhra, to make it useless to the rebels, and started for Hanadra withevery man and horse and gun and wagon and round of ammunition that hehad. 

Now news in India travels like the wind, first one way and then another. But, unlike the wind, it never whistles. Things happen and men knowit and the information spreads--invisible, intangible, inaudible, butpositive and, in nine cases out of ten, correct in detail. A governmentcan no more censor it, or divert it, or stop it on the way, than it canstay the birthrate or tamper with the Great Monsoon. 

First the priests knew it, then it filtered through the main bazaarsand from them on through the smaller streets. By the time that GeneralTurner had been two hours on the road with his command every man andwoman and child in Hanadra knew that the rebels had been beaten backand that Hanadra was his objective. They knew, too, that the section hadreached Doonha, had relieved it and started back again. And yet not asingle rebel who had fought in either engagement was within twenty milesof Hanadra yet!

In the old, low-ceilinged room above the archway Mahommed Khan pacedup and down and chewed at his black mustache, kicking his scabbard awayfrom him each time he turned and glowering at the priest. 

"That dog can solve this riddle!" he kept muttering. Then he would glareat Ruth impatiently and execrate the squeamishness of women. Ruth saton the divan with her face between her hands, trying to force herself torealize the full extent of her predicament and beat back the feeling ofhysteria that almost had her in its grip. The priest lay quiet. He wasin a torture of discomfort on the upturned table, but he preferrednot to give the Risaldar the satisfaction of knowing it. He eased hisposition quietly from time to time as much as his bandages would lethim, but he made no complaint. 

Suddenly, Ruth looked up. It had occurred to her that she was wastingtime and that if she were to fight off the depression that had seizedher she would be better occupied. 

"Mahommed Khan, " she said, "if I am to leave here on horseback, with youor with an escort, I had better collect some things that I would like totake with me. Let me in that room, please!"

"The horse will have all that it can carry, heavenborn, without a loadof woman's trappings. "

"My jewels? I can take them, I suppose?"

He bowed. "They are in there? I will bring them, heavenborn!"

"Nonsense! You don't know where to find them. "

"The ayah--will--will show me!"

He fitted the key into the lock and turned it, but Ruth was at his sidebefore he could pass in through the door. 

"Nonsense, Risaldar! The ayah can't hurt me. You have taken her knifeaway, and that is my room. I will go in there alone!"

She pushed past him before he could prevent her, thrust the door backand peered in. 

"Stay, heavenborn--I will explain!"

"Explain what?"

The dim light from the lamp was filtering in past them, and her eyeswere slowly growing accustomed to the gloom. There was something lyingon the floor, in the middle of the room, that was bulky and shapelessand unfamiliar. 

"Ayah!" said Ruth. "Ayah!"

But there was no answer. 

"Where is she, Risaldar?"

"She is there, heavenborn!"

"Is she asleep?"

"Aye! She sleeps deeply!"

There was, something in the Rajput's voice that was strange, that hintedat a darker meaning. 

"Ayah!" she called again, afraid, though she knew not why, to enter. 

"She guards the jewels, heavenborn! Wait, while I bring the lamp!"

He crossed the room, brought it and stepped with it past Ruth, straightinto the room. 

"See!" he said, holding the lamp up above his head. "There in her bosomare the jewels! It was there, too, that she had the knife to slay theewith! My sword is clean, yet, heavenborn! I slew her with my fingers, thus!"

He kicked the prostrate ayah, and, as the black face with the wide-openbloodshot eyes and the protruding tongue rolled sidewise and the bodymoved, a little heap of jewels fell upon the floor. Mahommed Khanstooped down to gather them, bending, a little painfully, on one oldknee--but stopped half-way and turned. There was a thud behind him inthe doorway. Ruth Bellairs had fainted, and lay as the ayah had lainwhen Risaldar had not yet locked her in the room. 

He raised the lamp and studied her in silence for a minute, looking fromher to the bound priest and back to her again. 

"Now praised be Allah!" he remarked aloud, with a world of genuinerelief in his voice. "Should she stay fainted for a little while, thatpriest--"

He stalked into the middle of the outer room. He set the lamp down on atable and looked the priest over as a butcher might survey a sheep he isabout to kill. 

"Now--robber of orphans--bleeder of widows' blood--dog of anidol-briber! This stands between thee and Kharvani!" He drew his swordand flicked the edges of it. "And this!" He took up the tongs again. "There is none now to plead or to forbid! Think! Show me the way out ofthis devil's nest, or--" He raised the tongs again. 

At that minute came a quiet knock. He set the tongs down again andcrossed the room and opened the door. 

VII. 

Mahommed Khan closed the door again behind his half-brother and turnedthe key, but the half-brother shot the bolt home as well before hespoke, then listened intently for a minute with his ear to the keyhole. 

"Where is the priest's son?" growled the Risaldar, in the Rajput tongue. 

"I have him. I have the priestling in a sack. I have him trussed andbound and gagged, so that he can neither speak nor wriggle!"

"Where?"

"Hidden safely. "

"I said to bring him here!"

"I could not. Listen! That ayah--where is she?"

"Dead! What has the ayah to do with it?"

"This--she was to give a sign. She was not to slay. She had leave onlyto take the jewels. Her orders were either to wait until she knew byquestioning that the section would not return or else, when it hadreturned, to wait until the memsahib and Bellairs sahib slept, and thento make a sign. They grow tired of waiting now, for there is news! AtJundhra the rebels are defeated, and at Doonha likewise. "

"How know you this?"

"By listening to the priests' talk while I lay in wait to snare thepriestling. Nothing is known as yet as to what the guns or garrison atDoonha do, but it is known that they of Jundhra will march on Hanadrahere. They search now for their High Priest, being minded to march outof here and set an ambush on the road. "

"They have time. From Jundhra to here is a long march! Until tomorrowevening or the day following they have time!"

"Aye! And they have fear also! They seek their priest--listen. "

There were voices plainly audible in the courtyard down below, andtwo more men stood at the foot of the winding stairway whispering. Bylistening intently they could hear almost what they said, for the stonestairway acted like a whispering-gallery, the voices echoing up it fromwall to wall. 

"Why do they seek him here?"

"They have sought elsewhere and not found him; and there is talk--Heclaimed the memsahib as his share of the plunder. They think--"

Mahommed Khan glared at the trussed-up priest and swore a savage oathbeneath his breath. 

"Have they touched the stables yet?" he demanded. 

"No, not yet. The loot is to be divided evenly among certain of thepriests, and no man may yet lay a hand on it. "

"Is there a guard there?"

"No. No one would steal what the priests claim, and the priests will nottrust one another. So the horses stand in their stalls unwatched. "

The voices down the stairs grew louder, and the sound of footsteps beganascending, slowly and with hesitation. 

"Quick!" said the Risaldar. "Light me that brazier again!"

Charcoal lights quickly, and before the steps had reached the landingMahommed Khan had a hot coal glowing in his tongs:

"Now speak to them!" he growled at the shuddering priest. "Order them togo back to their temple and tell them that you follow!"

The priest shut his lips tight and shook his head. With rescue so nearas that, he could see no reason to obey. But the hot coal touched him, and a Hindu who may be not at all afraid to die can not stand torture. 

"I speak!" he answered, writhing. 

"Speak, then!" said the Risaldar, choosing a larger coal. Then, inthe priest's language, which none--and least of all a Risaldar--canunderstand except the priests themselves, he began to shout directions, pitching his voice into a high, wailing, minor key. He was answered byanother sing-song voice outside the door and he listened with a glowingcoal held six inches from his eyes. 

"An eye for a false move!" hissed Mahommed Khan. "Two eyes are theforfeit unless they go down the stairs again! Then my half-brother herewill follow to the temple and if any watch, or stay behind, thy earswill sizzle!"

The High Priest raised his voice into a wail again, and the feetshuffled along the landing and descended. 

"Put down that coal!" he pleaded. "I have done thy bidding!"

"Watch through the window!" said the Risaldar. "Then follow!"

His giant half-brother peered from behind the curtain and listened. Hecould hear laughter, ribald, mocking laughter, but low, and plainly notintended for the High Priest's ears. 

"They go!" he growled. 

"Then follow. "

Once again the Risaldar was left alone with the priest and theunconscious Ruth. She was suffering from the effects of long days andnights of nerve-destroying heat, with the shock of unexpected horrorsuper-added, and she showed no disposition to recover consciousness. Thepriest, though, was very far from having lost his power to think. 

"You are a fool!" he sneered at the Risaldar, but the sword leaped fromits scabbard at the word and he changed that line of argument. "You holdcards and know not how to play them!"

"I know along which road my honor lies! I lay no plans to murder peoplein their sleep. "

"Honor! And what is honor? What is the interest on honor--how muchpercent?"

The Risaldar turned his back on him, but the High Priest laughed. 

"'The days of the Raj are numbered!" said the priest. "The English willbe slain to the last man and then where will you be? Where will be theprofit on your honor?"

The Risaldar listened, for he could not help it, but he made no answer. 

"Me you hold here, a prisoner. You can slay or torture. But what goodwill that do? The woman that you guard will fall sooner or later intoHindu hands. You can not fight against a legion. Listen! I hold thestrings of wealth. With a jerk I can unloose a fortune in your lap. Ineed that woman there!"

"For what?" snarled the Risaldar, whirling round on him, his eyesablaze. 

"'For power! Kharvani's temple here has images and paintings and a voicethat speaks--but no Kharvani!"

The Rajput turned away again and affected unconcern. 

"Could Kharvani but appear, could her worshipers but see Kharvanimanifest, what would a lakh, two lakhs, a crore of rupees mean to me, the High Priest of her temple? I could give thee anything! The powerover all India would be in my hands! Kharvani would but appear and saythus and thus, and thus would it be done!"

The Risaldar's hand had risen to his mustache. His back was still turnedon the priest, but he showed interest. His eyes wandered to where Ruthlay in a heap by the inner door and then away again. 

"Who would believe it?" he growled in an undertone. 

"They would all believe it! One and all! Even Mohammedans would becomeHindus to worship at her shrine and beg her favors. Thou and I alonewould share the secret. Listen! Loose me these bonds--my limbs ache. "

Mahommed Khan turned. He stooped and cut them with his sword. 

"Now I can talk, " said the priest, sitting up and rubbing his ankles. "Listen. Take thou two horses and gallop off, so that the rest may thinkthat the white woman has escaped. Then return here secretly and name thyprice--and hold thy tongue!"

"And leave her in thy hands?" asked the Risaldar. 

"In my keeping. "

"Bah! Who would trust a Hindu priest!"

The Rajput was plainly wavering and the priest stood up, to argue withhim the better. 

"What need to trust me? You, sahib, will know the secret, and none otherbut myself will know it. Would I, think you, be fool enough to tell therest, or, by withholding just payment from you, incite you to spread itbroadcast? You and I will know it and we alone. To me the power thatit will bring--to you all the wealth you ever dreamed of, and morebesides!"

"No other priest would know?"

"Not one! They will think the woman escaped!"

"And she--where would you keep her?"

"In a secret place I know of, below the temple. "

"Does any other know it?"

"No. Not one!"

"Listen!" said the Risaldar, stroking at his beard. "This woman neverdid me any wrong--but she is a woman, not a man. I owe her no fealty, and yet--I would not like to see her injured. Were I to agree to thyplan, there would needs be a third man in the secret. "

"Who? Name him, " said the priest, grinning his satisfaction. 

"My half-brother Suliman. "

"Agreed!"

"He must go with us to the hiding-place and stay there as her servant. "

"Is he a silent man?"

"Silent as the dead, unless I bid him speak!"

"Then, that is agreed; he and thou and I know of this secret, and noneother is to know it! Why wait? Let us remove her to the hiding-place!"

"Wait yet for Suliman. How long will I be gone, think you, on mypretended flight?"

"Nay, what think you, sahib?"

"I think many hours. There may be those that watch, or some that rideafter me. I think I shall not return until long after daylight, and thenthere will be no suspicions. Give me a token that will admit me safelyback into Hanadra--some sign that the priests will know, and a pass toshow to any one that bids me halt. "

The priest held out his hand. "Take off that ring of mine!" he answered. "That is the sacred ring of Kharvani--and all men know it. None willtouch thee or refuse thee anything, do they have but the merest sight ofit!"

The Risaldar drew off a clumsy silver ring, set with three stones--asapphire and a ruby and an emerald, each one of which was worth afortune by itself. He slipped it on his own finger and turned it roundslowly, examining it. 

"See how I trust thee, " said the priest. 

"More than I do thee!" muttered the Risaldar. 

"I hear my brother!" growled the Risaldar after another minute. "Beready to show the way!"

He walked across the room to Ruth, tore a covering from a divan andwrapped her in it; then he opened the outer door for his half-brother. 

"Is it well?" he asked in the Rajput tongue. 

"All well!" boomed the half-brother, eying the unbound priest withunconcealed surprise. 

"Do any watch?"

"Not one! The priests are in the temple; all who are not priests man thewalls or rush here and there making ready. "

"And the priestling?"

"Is where I left him. "

"Where?--I said. "

"In the niche underneath the arch, where I trapped the High Priest!"

"Are the horses fed and watered?"

"Ha, sahib!"

"Good! How is the niche opened where the priestling lies?"

"There is the trunk of an elephant, carved where the largest stone ofall begins to curve outward, on the side of the stone as you go outwardfrom the courtyard. "

"On which side of the archway, then?"

"On the left side, sahib. Press on the trunk downward and then pull; thestone swings outward. There are steps then--ten steps downward to thestone floor where the priestling lies. "

"Good! I can find him. Now pick up the heavenborn yonder in those greatarms of thine, and bear her gently! Gently, I said! So! Have a care, now, that she is not injured against the corners. My honor, aye, myhonor and yours and all our duty to the Raj you bear and--and have acare of the corners?"

"Aye, " answered the half-brother, stolidly, holding Ruth as though shehad been a little bag of rice. 

Again the Risaldar turned to the High Priest, and eyed him through eyesthat glittered. 

"We are ready!" he growled. "Lead on to thy hiding-place!"

VIII. 

The guns rode first from Doonha, for the guns take precedence. Thesection ground-scouts were acting scouts for the division, two hundredyards ahead of every one. Behind the guns rode Colonel Forrester-Carter, followed by the wagon with the wounded; and last of all the twocompanies of the Thirty-third trudged through the stifling heat. 

But, though the guns were ahead of every one, they had to suit theirpace to that of the men who marched. For one thing, there might be anattack at any minute, and guns that are caught at close quarters at adistance from their escort are apt to be astonishingly helpless. Theycan act in unison with infantry; but alone, on bad ground, in thedarkness, and with their horses nearly too tired to drag them, a leashof ten puppies in a crowd would be an easier thing to hurry with. 

Young Bellairs had his men dismounted and walking by their mounts. Eventhe drivers led their horses, for two had been taken from each gun todrag the wounded, and the guns are calculated as a load for six, notfour. 

As he trudged through the blood-hot dust in clumsy riding-boots andled his charger on the left flank of the guns, Harry Bellairs fumed andfretted in a way to make no man envy him. The gloomy, ghost-like trees, that had flitted past him on the road to Doonha, crawled past himnow--slowly and more slowly as his tired feet blistered in his boots. He could not mount and ride, though, for very shame, while his men weremarching, and he dared not let them ride, for fear the horses might givein. He could just trudge and trudge, and hate himself and every one, andwonder. 

What had the Risaldar contrived to do? Why hadn't he packed up hiswife's effects the moment that his orders came and ridden off with herand the section at once, instead of waiting three hours or more for anescort for her? Why hadn't he realized at once that orders that came ina hurry that way, in the night-time, were not only urgent but ominous aswell? What chance had the Risaldar--an old man, however willing he mightbe--to ride through a swarming countryside for thirty miles or more andbring back an escort? Why, even supposing Mohammed Khan had ridden offat once, he could scarcely be back again before the section! And whatwould have happened in the meantime?

Supposing the Risaldar's sons and grandsons refused to obey him?Stranger things than that had been known to happen! Suppose they weredisloyal? And then--blacker though than any yet!--suppose--suppose--Why had Mahommed Khan, the hard-bitten, wise old war-dog, advised himto leave his wife behind? Did that seem like honest advice, on secondthought? Mohammedans had joined in this outbreak as well as Hindus. The sepoys at Doonha were Mohammedans! Why had Mahommed Khan seemed soanxious to send him on his way? As though an extra five minuteswould have mattered! Why had he objected to a last good-by to Mrs. Bellairs?. . . And then--he had shown a certain knowledge of the uprising;where had he obtained it? If he were loyal, who then had told him of it?Natives who are disloyal don't brag of their plans beforehand to men whoare on the other side! And if he had known of it, and was still loyal, how was it that he had not divulged his information before the outbreakcame? Would a loyal man hold his tongue until the last minute? Scarcely!

He halted, pulled his horse to the middle of the road and waited forColonel Carter to overtake him. 

"Well? What is it?" asked the colonel sharply. 

"Can I ride on ahead, sir? My horse is good for it and I'm in agonies ofapprehension about my wife!"

"No! Certainly not! You are needed to command your section!"

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I've a sergeant who can take command. He'sa first-class man and perfectly dependable. "

"You could do no good, even if you did ride on, " said the colonel, notunkindly. 

"I'm thinking, sir, that Mahommed Khan--"

"Risaldar Mahommed Khan?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Of the Rajput Horse?"

"Yes, sir. My father's Risaldar. "

"You left your wife in his charge, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir, but I'm thinking that--that perhaps the Risaldar--Imean--there seem to be Mohammedans at the bottom of this business, aswell as Hindus. Perhaps--"

"Bellairs! Now hear me once and for all. You thank your God that theRisaldar turned up to guard her! Thank God that your father was manenough for Mahommed Khan to love and that you are your father's son! Andlisten! Don't let me hear you, ever, under any circumstances, breathe aword of doubt as to that man's loyalty! D'you understand me, sir? You, a mere subaltern, a puppy just out of his 'teens, an insignificantjackanapes with two twelve-pounders in your charge, daring to imputedisloyalty to Mahommed Khan!--your impudence! Remember this! That oldRisaldar is the man who rode with your father through the guns at Dera!He's a pauper without a pension, for all his loyalty, but he went downthe length of India to meet you, at his own expense, when you landedraw-green from England! And what d'you know of war, I'd like to know, that you didn't learn from him? Thank your God, sir, that there'ssome one there who'll kill your wife before she falls into the Hindus'hands!"

"But he was going to ride away, sir, to bring an escort!"

"Not before he'd made absolutely certain of her safety!" swore thecolonel with conviction. "Join your section, sir!"

So Harry Bellairs joined his section and trudged along sore-footed atits side--sore-hearted, too. He wondered whether any one would ever sayas much for him as Colonel Carter had chosen to say for Mahommed Khan, or whether any one would have the right to say it! He was ashamed ofhaving left his wife behind and tortured with anxiety--and smarting fromthe snub--a medley of sensations that were more likely to make a man ofhim, if he had known it, than the whole experience of a year's campaign!But in the dust and darkness, with the blisters on his heels, and fiftymen, who had overheard the colonel, looking sidewise at him, his plightwas pitiable. 

They trudged until the dawn began to rise, bright yellow below thedrooping banian trees; only Colonel Carter and the advance-guard riding. Then, when they stopped at a stream to water horses and let them grazea bit and give the men a sorely needed rest, one of the ring of outpostsloosed off his rifle and shouted an alarm. They had formed square in aninstant, with the guns on one side and the men on three, and the coloneland the wounded in the middle. A thousand or more of the mutineersleaned on their rifles on the shoulder of a hill and looked them over, athousand yards away. 

"Send them an invitation!" commanded Colonel Carter, and the left-handgun barked out an overture, killing one sepoy. The rest made off in thedirection of Hanadra. 

"We're likely to have a hot reception when we reach there!" said ColonelCarter cheerily. "Well, we'll rest here for thirty minutes and give thema chance to get ready for us. I'm sorry there's no breakfast, men, butthe sepoys will have dinner ready by the time we get there--we'll eattheirs!"

The chorus of ready laughter had scarcely died away when a horse'shoof-beats clattered in the distance from the direction of Doonha and anative cavalryman galloped into view, low-bent above his horse's neck. The foam from his horse was spattered over him and his lance swungpointing upward from the sling. On his left side the polished scabbardrose and fell in time to his horse's movement. He was urging his wearyhorse to put out every ounce he had in him. He drew rein, though, whenhe reached a turning in the road and saw the resting division in frontof him, and walked his horse forward, patting his sweat-wet neck andeasing him. But as he leaned to finger with the girths an ambushedsepoy fired at him, and he rammed in his spurs again and rode like a manpossessed. 

"This'll be another untrustworthy Mohammedan!" said Colonel Carter ina pointed undertone, and Bellairs blushed crimson underneath the tan. "He's ridden through from Jundhra, with torture waiting for him if hehappened to get caught, and no possible reward beyond his pay. Look outhe doesn't spike your guns!"

The trooper rode straight up to Colonel Carter and saluted. He removeda tiny package from his cheek, where he had carried it so that he mightswallow it at once in case of accident, tore the oil-silk cover fromit and handed it to him without a word, saluting again and leading hishorse away. Colonel Carter unfolded the half-sheet of foreign notepaperand read:

 Dear Colonel Carter: Your letter just received in which you say that you have blown up the magazine at Doonha and are marching to Hanadra with a view to the rescue of Mrs. Bellairs. This is in no sense intended as a criticism of your action or of your plan, but circumstances have made it seem advisable for me to transfer my own headquarters to Hanadra and I am just starting. I must ask you, please, to wait for me--at a spot as near to where this overtakes you as can be managed. If Mrs. Bellairs, or anybody else of ours, is in Hanadra, she--or they--are either dead by now or else prisoners. And if they are to be rescued by force, the larger the force employed the better. If you were to attack with your two companies before I reached you, you probably would be repulsed, and would, I think, endanger the lives of any prisoners that the enemy may hold. I am coming with my whole command as fast as possible. Your Obedient Servant, A. E. Turner Genl. Officer Commanding

"Men!" said Colonel Carter, in a ringing voice that gave not theslightest indication of his feelings, "we're to wait here for a whileuntil the whole division overtakes us. The general has vacated Jundhra. Lie down and get all the rest you can!"

The murmur from the ranks was as difficult to read as Colonel Carter'svoice had been. It might have meant pleasure at the thought of rest, or anger, or contempt, or almost anything. It was undefined andindefinable. 

But there was no doubt at all as to how young Bellairs felt. He wassitting on a trunnion, sobbing, with his head bent low between hishands. 

IX. 

"Come, then!" said the High Priest. 

Mahommed Khan threw open the outer door and bowed sardonically. "Precedence for priests!" he sneered, tapping at his sword-hilt. "Thougoest first! Next come I, and last Suliman with the memsahib! Thus can Ireach thee with my sword, O priest, and also protect her if need be!"

"Thou art trusting as a little child!" exclaimed the priest, passing outahead of him. 

"A priest and a liar and a thief--all three are one!" hummed theRisaldar. "Bear her gently, Suliman! Have a care, now, as you turn onthe winding stairs!"

"Ha, sahib!" said the half-brother, carrying Ruth as easily as thoughshe had been a little child. 

At the foot of the stairway, in the blackness that seemed alive withphantom shadows, the High Priest paused and listened, stretching outhis left hand against the wall to keep the other two behind him. Fromsomewhere beyond the courtyard came the din of hurrying sandaled feet, scudding over cobblestones in one direction. The noise was incessant andnot unlike the murmur of a rapid stream. Occasionally a voice was raisedin some command or other, but the stream of sound continued, hurrying, hurrying, shuffling along to the southward. 

"This way and watch a while, " whispered the priest. 

"I have heard rats run that way!" growled the Risaldar. 

They climbed up a narrow stairway leading to a sort of battlement andpeered over the top, Suliman laying Ruth Bellairs down in the darkestshadow he could find. She was beginning to recover consciousness, andapparently Mahommed Khan judged it best to take no notice of her. 

Down below them they could see the city gate, wide open, with a blazingtorch on either side of it, and through the gate, swarming likeants before the rains, there poured an endless stream of humans thatmarched--and marched--and marched; four, ten, fifteen abreast; allheights and sizes, jumbled in and out among one another, anyhow, withoutformation, but armed, every one of them, and all intent on marchingto the southward, where Jundhra and Doonha lay. Some muttered to oneanother and some laughed, but the greater number marched in silence. 

"That for thy English!" grinned the priest. "Can the English troopsovercome that horde?"

"Hey-ee! For a troop or two of Rajputs!" sighed the Risaldar. "OrEnglish Lancers! They would ride through that as an ax does through thebrush-wood!"

"Bah!" said the priest. "All soldiers boast! There will be a houghingshortly after dawn. The days of thy English are now numbered. "

"By those--there?"

"Ay, by those, there! Come!"

They climbed down the steps again, the Rajput humming to himself andsmiling grimly into his mustache. 

"Ay! There will be a houghing shortly after dawn!" he muttered. "Wouldonly that I were there to see!. . . Where are the sepoys?" he demanded. 

"I know not. How should I know, who have been thy guest these hourspast? This march is none of my ordering. "

The priest pressed hard on a stone knob that seemed to be part of thecarving on a wall, then he leaned his weight against the wall and a hugestone swung inward, while a fetid breath of air wafted outward in theirfaces. 

"None know this road but I!" exclaimed the priest. 

"None need to!" said the Risaldar. "Pass on, snake, into thy hole. Wefollow. "

"Steps!" said the priest, and began descending. 

"Curses!" said the Risaldar, stumbling and falling down on top of him. "Have a care, Suliman! The stone is wet and slippery. "

Down, down they climbed, one behind the other, Suliman grunting beneathhis burden and the Risaldar keeping up a running fire of oaths. Eachtime that he slipped, and that was often, he cursed the priest andcautioned Suliman. But the priest only laughed, and apparently Sulimanwas sure-footed, for he never stumbled once. They seemed to be divingdown into the bowels of the earth. They were in pitch-black darkness, for the stone had swung to behind them of its own accord. The wall oneither side of them was wet with slime and the stink of decaying agesrose and almost stifled them. But the priest kept on descending, so fastthat the other two had trouble to keep up with him, and he hummed tohimself as though he knew the road and liked it. 

"The bottom!" he called back suddenly. "From now the going is easy, until we rise again. We pass now under the city-wall. "

But they could see nothing and hear nothing except their own footfallsswishing in the ooze beneath them. Even the priest's words seemed tobe lost at once, as though he spoke into a blanket, for the air theybreathed was thicker than a mist and just as damp. They walked on, alonga level, wet, stone passage for at least five minutes, feeling their waywith one band on the wall. 

"Steps, now!" said the priest. "Have a care, now, for the lower ones areslippery. "

Ruth was regaining consciousness. She began to move and tried once ortwice to speak. 

"Here, thou!" growled the Risaldar. "Thou art a younger man than I--comeback here. Help with the memsahib. "

The priest came back a step or two, but Suliman declined his aid, snarling vile insults at him. 

"I can manage!" he growled. "Get thou behind me, Mahommed Khan, in caseI slip!"

So Mahommed Khan came last, and they slipped and grunted upward, roundand round a spiral staircase that was hewn out of solid rock. No lightcame through from anywhere to help them, but the priest climbed on, asthough he were accustomed to the stair and knew the way from constantuse. After five minutes of steady climbing the stone grew gradually dry. The steps became smaller, too, and deeper, and not so hard to climb. Suddenly the priest reached out his arm and pulled at something or otherthat hung down in the darkness. A stone in the wall rolled open. A floodof light burst in and nearly blinded them. 

"We are below Kharvani's temple!" announced the priest. He led themthrough the opening into a four-square room hewn from the rock below thefoundations of the temple some time in the dawn of history. The lightthat had blinded them when they first emerged proved to be nothing butthe flicker of two small oil lamps that hung suspended by brass chainsfrom the painted ceiling. The only furniture was mats spread on thecut-stone floor. 

"By which way did we come?" asked the Risaldar, staring in amazementround the walls. There was not a door nor crack, nor any sign of one, except that a wooden ladder in one corner led to a trapdoor overhead, and they had certainly not entered by the ladder. 

"Nay! That is a secret!" grinned the priest. "He who can may find theopening! Here can the woman and her servant stay until we need them. "

"Here in this place?"

"Where else? No man but I knows of this crypt! The ladder there leads toanother room, where there is yet another ladder, and that one leads outthrough a secret door I know of, straight into the temple. Art ready?There is need for haste!"

"Wait!" said the Risaldar. 

"These soldiers!" sneered the priest. "It is wait--wait--wait with them, always!"

"Hast thou a son. "

"Ay! But what of it?"

"I said 'hast, ' not 'hadst'!"

"Ay. I have a son. 

"Where?"

"In one of the temple-chambers overhead. "

"Nay, priest! Thy son lies gagged and bound and trussed in a place Iknow of, and which thou dost not know!"

"Since when?"

"Since by my orders he was laid there. "

"Thou art the devil! Thou liest, Rajput!"

"So? Go seek thy son!"

The priest's face had blanched beneath the olive of his skin, and hestared at Mahommed Khan through distended eyes. 

"My son!" he muttered. 

"Aye! Thy priestling! He stays where he is, as hostage, until my return!Also the heavenborn stays here! If, on my return, I find the heavenbornsafe and sound, I will exchange her for thy son--and if not, I willtear thy son into little pieces before thy eyes, priest! Dost thouunderstand?"

"Thou liest! My son is overhead in the temple here!"

"Go seek him, then!"

The priest turned and scampered up the ladder with an agility that wasastonishing in a man of his build and paunch. 

"Hanuman should have been thy master!" jeered the Risaldar. "So run thebandar-log, the monkey-folk!"

But the priest had no time to answer him. He was half frantic with thesickening fear of a father for his only son. He returned ten minuteslater, panting, and more scared than ever. 

"Go, take thy white woman, " he exclaimed, "and give me my son back!"

"Nay, priest! Shall I ride with her alone through that horde thatare marching through the gate? I go now for an escort; ineight--ten--twelve--I know not how many hours, I will return for her, and then--thy son will be exchanged for her, or he dies thus in manypieces!"

He turned to Suliman. "Is she awake yet?" he demanded. 

"Barely, but she recovers. "

"Then tell her, when consciousness returns, that I have gone and willreturn for her. And stay here, thou, and guard her until I come. "

"Ha, sahib!"

"Now, show the way!"

"But--" said the priest, "our bargain? The price that we agreed on--onelakh, was it not?"

"One lakh of devils take thee and tear thee into little pieces! Wouldstbribe a Rajput, a Risaldar? For that insult I will repay thee one daywith interest, O priest! Now, show the way!"

"But how shall I be sure about my son?"

"Be sure that the priestling will starve to death or die of thirst orchoke, unless I hurry! He is none too easy where he lies!"

"Go! Hurry, then!" swore the priest. "May all the gods there are, andthy Allah with them, afflict thee with all their curses--thee and thine!Up with you! Up that ladder! Run! But, if the gods will, I will meetthee again when the storm is over!"

"Inshallah!" growled Mahommed Khan. 

Ten minutes later a crash and a clatter and a shower of sparks broke outin the sweltering courtyard where the guns had stood and waited. It wasShaitan, young Bellairs' Khaubuli charger, with his haunches under him, plunging across the flagstones, through the black-dark archway, outon the plain beyond--in answer to the long, sharp-roweled spurs of theRisaldar Mahommed Khan. 

X. 

Dawn broke and the roofs of old Hanadra became resplendent with thevaried colors of turbans and pugrees and shawls. As though the risingsun had loosed the spell, a myriad tongues, of women chiefly, rose ina babel of clamor, and the few men who had been left in. Hanadra bythe night's armed exodus came all together and growled prophetically inundertones. Now was the day of days, when that part of India, at least, should cast off the English yoke. 

To the temple! The cry went up before the sun was fifteen minutes high. There are a hundred temples in Hanadra, age-old all of them and carvedon the outside with strange images of heathen gods in high relief, likemolds turned inside out. But there is but one temple that that cry couldmean--Kharvani's; and there could be but one meaning for the cry. Man, woman and child would pray Kharvani, Bride of Siva the Destroyer, tointercede with Siva and cause him to rise and smite the English. On theskyline, glinting like flashed signals in the early sun, bright Englishbayonets had appeared; and between them and Hanadra was a dense blackmass, the whole of old Hanadra's able-bodied manhood, lined up todefend the city. Now was the time to pray. Fifty to one are by no meansdespicable odds, but the aid of the gods as well is better!

So the huge dome of Kharvani's temple began to echo to the sound ofslippered feet and awe-struck whisperings, and the big, dim auditoriumsoon filled to overflowing. No light came in from the outer world. There was nothing to illuminate the mysteries except the chain-hunggrease-lamps swinging here and there from beams, and they served onlyto make the darkness visible. Bats flicked in and out between themand disappeared in the echoing gloom above. Censers belched outsweet-smelling, pungent clouds of sandalwood to drown the stench of hothumanity; and the huge graven image of Kharvani--serene and smiling andindifferent--stared round-eyed from the darkness. 

Then a priest's voice boomed out in a solemn incantation and thewhispering hushed. He chanted age-old verses, whose very meaning wasforgotten in the womb of time--forgotten as the artist who had paintedthe picture of idealized Kharvani on the wall. Ten priests, five oneither side of the tremendous idol, emerged chanting from the gloombehind, and then a gong rang, sweetly, clearly, suddenly, and thechanting ceased. Out stepped the High Priest from a niche below theimage, and his voice rose in a wailing, sing-song cadence that reechoedfrom the dome and sent a thrill through every one who heard. 

His chant had scarcely ceased when the temple door burst open and a manrushed in. 

"They have begun!" he shouted. "The battle has begun!"

As though in ready confirmation of his words, the distant reverberatingboom of cannon filtered through the doorway from the world of grimrealities outside. 

"They have twenty cannon with them! They have more guns than we have!"wailed he who brought the news. Again began the chanting that sought theaid of Siva the Destroyer. Only, there were fewer who listened to thissecond chant. Those who were near the doorway slipped outside and joinedthe watching hundreds on the roofs. 

For an hour the prayers continued in the stifling gloom, priestrelieving priest and chant following on chant, until the temple was halfemptied of its audience. One by one, and then by twos and threes, theworshipers succumbed to human curiosity and crept stealthily outside towatch. 

Another messenger ran in and shouted: "They have charged! Their cavalryhave charged! They are beaten back! Their dead lie twisted on theplain!"

At the words there was a stampede from the doorway, and half of thosewho had remained rushed out. There were hundreds still there, though, for that great gloomy pile of Kharvani's could hold an almost countlesscrowd. 

Within another hour the same man rushed to the door again and shouted:

"Help comes! Horsemen are coming from the north! Rajputs, riding likeleaves before the wind! Even the Mussulmans are for us!"

But the chanting never ceased. No one stopped to doubt the friendshipof arrivals from the north, for to that side there were no English, andEngland's friends would surely follow byroads to her aid. The city gateswere wide open to admit wounded or messengers or friends--with a view, even, to a possible retreat--and whoever cared could ride through themunchallenged and unchecked. 

Even when the crash of horses' hoofs rattled on the stone paving outsidethe temple there was no suspicion. No move was made to find out whoit was who rode. But when the temple door reechoed to the thunder of asword-hilt and a voice roared "Open!" there was something like a panic. The chanting stopped and the priests and the High Priest listened to thestamping on the stone pavement at the temple front. 

"Open!" roared a voice again, and the thundering on the panelsrecommenced. Then some one drew the bolt and a horse's head--a hugeKhaubuli stallion's--appeared, snorting and panting and wild-eyed. 

"Farward!" roared the Risaldar Mahommed Khan, kneeling on youngBellairs' winded charger. 

"Farm twos! Farward!"

Straight into the temple, two by two, behind the Risaldar, rode twofierce lines of Rajputs, overturning men and women--their drawn swordspointing this way and that--their dark eyes gleaming. Without a wordto any one they rode up to the image, where the priests stood in anastonished herd. 

"Fron-tt farm! Rear rank--'bout-face!" barked the Risaldar, and therewas another clattering and stamping on the stone floor as the pantingchargers pranced into the fresh formation, back to back. 

"The memsahib!" growled Mahommed Khan. "Where is she?"

"My son!" said the High Priest. "Bring me my son!"

"A life for a life! Thy heavenborn first!"

"Nay! Show me my son first!"

The Risaldar leaped from his horse and tossed his reins to the manbehind him. In a second his sword was at the High Priest's throat. 

"Where is that secret stair?" he growled. "Lead on!"

The swordpoint pricked him. Two priests tried to interfere, but wiltedand collapsed with fright as four fierce, black-bearded Rajputs spurredtheir horses forward. The swordpoint pricked still deeper. 

"My son!" said the High Priest. 

"A life for a life! Lead on!"

The High Priest surrendered, with a dark and cunning look, though, thathinted at something or other in reserve. He pulled at a piece ofcarving on the wail behind and pointed to a stair that showed behindthe outswung door. Then he plucked another priest by the sleeve andwhispered. 

The priest passed on the whisper. A third priest turned and ran. 

"That way!" said the High Priest, pointing. 

"I? Nay! I go not down!" He raised his voice into an ululating howl. "OSuliman!" he bellowed. "Suliman! O!--Suliman! Bring up the heaven-born!"

A growl like the distant rumble from a bear-pit answered him. Then RuthBellairs' voice was heard calling up the stairway. 

"Is that you, Mahommed Khan?"

"Ay, memsahib!"

"Good! I'm coming!"

She had recovered far enough to climb the ladder and the steep stonestair above it, and Suliman climbed up behind her, grumbling dreadfulprophecies of what would happen to the priests now that Mohammed Khanhad come. 

"Is all well, Risaldar?" she asked him. 

"Nay, heavenborn! All is not well yet! The general sahib from Jundhraand your husband's guns and others, making one division, are engagedwith rebels eight or nine miles from here. We saw part of the battle aswe rode!"

"Who wins?"

"It is doubtful, heavenborn! How could we tell from this distance?"

"Have you a horse for me?"

"Ay, heavenborn! Here! Bring up that horse, thou, and Suliman's! Ridehim cross-saddle, heavenborn--there were no side-saddles in Siroeh! Nay, he is just a little frightened. He will stand--he will not throw thee!I did better than I thought, heavenborn. I come with four-and-twenty, making twenty-six with me and Suliman. An escort for a queen! So--sithim quietly. Leave the reins free. Suliman will lead him! Ho! Fronnnt!Rank--'bout-face!"

"My son!" wailed the High Priest. "Where is my son?"

"Tell him, Suliman!"

"Where I caught thee, thou idol-briber!" snarled the Risaldar'shalf-brother. 

"Where? In that den of stinks. Gagged and bound all this while?"

"Ha! Gagged and bound and out of mischief where all priests andpriests' sons ought to be!" laughed Mahommed Khan. "Farward! Farm twosTer-r-r-ott!"

In went the spur, and the snorting, rattling, clanking cavalcade sidledand pranced out of the temple into the sunshine, with Ruth and Sulimanin the midst of them. 

"Gallop!" roared the Risaldar, the moment that the last horse was clearof the temple-doors. And in that instant he saw what the High Priest'swhispering had meant. 

Coming up the street toward them was a horde of silent, hurrying Hindus, armed with swords and spears, wearing all of them the caste-marks ofthe Brahman--well-fed, indignant relations of the priests, intent onavenging the defilement of Kharvani's temple. 

"Canter! Fronnnt--farm--Gallop! Charge!"

Ruth found herself in the midst of a whirlwind of flashing sabers, astride of a lean-flanked Katiawari gelding that could streak likean antelope, knee to knee with a pair of bearded Rajputs, one of whomgripped her bridle-rein--thundering down a city street straight for ahundred swords that blocked her path. She set her eyes on the middle ofMahommed Khan's straight back, gripped the saddle with both hands, sether teeth and waited for the shock. Mahommed Khan's right arm rose andhis sword flashed in the sunlight as he stood up in his stirrups. Sheshut her eyes. But there was no shock! There was the swish of whirlingsteel, the thunder of hoofs, the sound of bodies falling. There was ascream or two as well and a coarse-mouthed Rajput oath. But when shedared to open her eyes once more they were thundering still, headlongdown the city street and Mahommed Khan was whirling his sword in mid-airto shake the blood from it. 

Ahead lay the city gate and she could see another swarm of Hindusrushing from either side to close it. But "Charge!" yelled Mahommed Khanagain, and they swept through the crowd, through the half-shut gate, outon the plain beyond, as a wind sweeps through the forest, leaving fallentree-trunks in its wake. 

"Halt!" roared the Risaldar, when they were safely out of range. "Areany hurt? No? Good for us that their rifles are all in the firing-lineyonder!"

He sat for a minute peering underneath his hand at the distant, dark, serried mass of men and the steel-tipped lines beyond it, watching thebelching cannon and the spurting flames of the close-range rifle-fire. 

"See, heavenborn!" he said, pointing. "Those will be your husband'sguns! See, over on the left, there. See! They fire! Those two! We canreach them if we make a circuit on the flank here!"

"But can we get through, Risaldar? Won't they see us and cut us off?"

"Heavenborn!" he answered, "men who dare ride into a city temple andsnatch thee from the arms of priests dare and can do anything! Takethis, heavenborn--take it as a keepsake, in case aught happens!"

He drew off the priest's ring, gave it to her and then, before she couldreply:

"Canter!" he roared. The horses sprang forward in answer to the spursand there was nothing for Ruth to do but watch the distant battle andlisten to the deep breathing of the Rajputs on either hand. 

XI. 

There could be no retreat that day and no thought of it. Jundhra andDoonha were in ruins. The bridges were down behind them and Hanadra layahead. The British had to win their way into it or perish. Tired out, breakfastless, suffering from the baking heat, the long, thinBritish line had got--not to hold at bay but to smash and pierce--anover-whelming force of Hindus that was stiffened up and down its lengthby small detachments of native soldiers who had mutinied. 

Numbers were against them, and even superiority of weapons was not sooverwhelmingly in their favor, for those were the days of short-rangerifle-fire and smoothbore artillery, and one gun was considerably likeanother. The mutinous sepoys had their rifles with them; there wereguns from the ramparts of Hanadra that were capable of quite efficientservice at close range; and practically every man in the dense-packedrebel line had a firearm of some kind. It was only in cavalry anddiscipline and pluck that the British force had the advantage, and thecavalry had already charged once and had been repulsed. 

General Turner rode up and down the sweltering firing-line, encouragingthe men when it seemed to him they needed it and giving directions tohis officers. He was hidden from view oftener than not by therolling clouds of smoke and he popped up here and there suddenly andunexpectedly. Wherever he appeared there was an immediate stiffeningamong the ranks, as though he carried a supply of spare enthusiasm withhim and could hand it out. 

Colonel Carter, commanding the right wing, turned his head for a secondat the sound of a horse's feet and found the general beside him. 

"Had I better have my wounded laid in a wagon, sir?" he suggested, "incase you find it necessary to fall back?"

"There will be no retreat!" said General Turner. "Leave your woundedwhere they are. I never saw a cannon bleed before. How's that?"

He spurred his horse over to where one of Bellairs' guns was being runforward into place again and Colonel Carter followed him. There wasblood dripping from the muzzle of it. 

"We're short of water, sir!" said Colonel Carter. 

And as he spoke a gunner dipped his sponge into a pool of blood andrammed it home. 

Bellairs was standing between his two guns, looking like the shadow ofhimself, worn out with lack of sleep, disheveled, wounded. There wasblood dripping from his forehead and he wore his left arm in a slingmade from his shirt. 

"Fire!" he ordered, and the two guns barked in unison and jumped backtwo yards or more. 

"If you'll look, " said General Turner, plucking at the colonel'ssleeve, "you'll see a handful of native cavalry over yonder behind theenemy--rather to the enemy's left--there between those two clouds ofsmoke. D'you see them?"

"They look like Sikhs or Rajputs, " said the colonel. 

"Yes. Don't they? I'd like you to keep an eye on them. They've comeup from the rear. I caught sight of them quite a while ago and I can'tquite make them out. It's strange, but I can't believe that they belongto the enemy. D'you see?--there--they've changed direction. They'reriding as though they intended to come round the enemy's left flank!"

"By gad, they are! Look! The enemy are moving to cut them off!"

"I must get back to the other wing!" said General Turner. "But thatlooks like the making of an opportunity! Keep both eyes lifting, Carter, and advance the moment you see any confusion in the enemy's ranks. "

He rode off, and Colonel Carter stared long and steadily at theapproaching horsemen. He saw a dense mass of the enemy, about a thousandstrong, detach itself from the left wing and move to intercept them, andhe noticed that the movement made a tremendous difference to the ranksopposed to him. He stepped up to young Bellairs and touched his sleeve. Bellairs started like a man roused from a dream. 

"That's your wife over there!" said Colonel Carter. "There can't be anyother white woman here-abouts riding with a Rajput escort!"

Bellairs gripped the colonel's outstretched arm. 

"Where?" he almost screamed. "Where? I don't see her!"

"There, man! There, where that mass of men is moving! Look! By the LordHarry! He's charging right through the mob! That's Mahommed Khan, I'llbet a fortune! Now's our chance Bugler!"

The bugler ran to him, and he began to puff into his instrument. 

"Blow the 'attention' first!"

Out rang the clear, strident notes, and the non-commissioned officersand men took notice that a movement of some kind would shortly berequired of them, but the din of firing never ceased for a singleinstant. Then, suddenly, an answering bugle sang out from the otherflank. 

"Advance in echelon!" commanded Colonel Carter, and the bugler did hisbest to split his cheeks in a battle-rending blast. 

"You remain where you are, sir!" he ordered young Bellairs. "Keep yourguns served to the utmost!"

Six-and-twenty horsemen, riding full-tilt at a thousand men, may looklike a trifle, but they are disconcerting. What they hit, they kill; andif they succeed in striking home, they play old Harry with formations. And Risaldar Mahommed Khan did strike home. He changed directionsuddenly and, instead of using up his horses' strength in outflankingthe enemy, who had marched to intercept him, and making a running targetof his small command, he did the unexpected--which is the one best thingto do in war. He led his six-and-twenty at a headlong gallop straightfor the middle of the crowd--it could not be called by any militaryname. They fired one ragged volley at him and then had no time toload before he was in the middle of them, clashing right and left andpressing forward. They gave way, right and left, before him, and a goodnumber of them ran. Half a hundred of them were cut down as they fledtoward their firing-line. At that second, just as the Risaldar and hishandful burst through the mob and the mob began rushing wildly outof his way, the British bugles blared out the command to advance inechelon. 

The Indians were caught between a fire and a charge that they had goodreason to fear in front of them, and a disturbance on their left flankthat might mean anything. As one-half of them turned wildly to face whatmight be coming from this unexpected quarter, the British troops cameon with a roar, and at the same moment Mahommed Khan reached the rear oftheir firing-line and crashed headlong into it. 

In a second the whole Indian line was in confusion and in another minuteit was in full retreat not knowing nor even guessing what had routed it. Retreat grew into panic and panic to stampede and, five minutes afterthe Risaldar's appearance on the scene, half of the Indian line wasrushing wildly for Hanadra and the other half was retiring sullenly incomparatively dense and decent order. 

Bellairs could not see all that happened. The smoke from his own gunsobscured the view, and the necessity for giving orders to his menprevented him from watching as he would have wished. But he sawthe Rajputs burst out through the Indian ranks and he saw his owncharger--Shaitan the unmistakable--careering across the plain toward himriderless. 

"For the love of God!" he groaned, raising both fists to heaven, "hasshe got this far, and then been killed! Oh, what in Hades did I entrusther to an Indian for? The pig-headed, brave old fool! Why couldn't heride round them, instead of charging through?"

As he groaned aloud, too wretched even to think of what his duty was, agalloper rode up to him. 

"Bring up your guns, sir, please!" he ordered. "You're asked to hurry!Take up position on that rising ground and warm up the enemy's retreat!"

"Limber up!" shouted Bellairs, coming to himself again. Fifteen secondslater his two guns were thundering up the rise. 

As he brought them to "action front" and tried to collect his thoughtsto figure out the range, a finger touched his shoulder and he turned tosee another artillery officer standing by him. 

"I've been lent from another section, " he explained: "You're wanted. "

"Where?"

"Over there, where you see Colonel Carter standing. It's your wife wantsyou, I think!"

Bellairs did not wait for explanations. He sent for his horse andmounted and rode across the intervening space at a breakneck gallop thathe could barely stop in time to save himself from knocking the colonelover. A second later he was in Ruth's arms. 

"I thought you were dead when I saw Shaitan!" he said. He was nearlysobbing. 

"No, Mahommed Khan rode him, " she answered, and she made no pretenseabout not sobbing. She was crying like a child. 

"Salaam, Bellairs sahib!" said a weak voice close to him. He noticedColonel Carter bending over a prostrate figure, lifting the head upon his knee. There were three Rajputs standing between, though, and hecould not see whose the figure was. 

"Come over here!" said Colonel Carter, and young Bellairs obeyed him, leaving Ruth sitting on the ground where she was. 

"Wouldn't you care to thank Mohammed Khan?" It was a little cruel of thecolonel to put quite so much venom in his voice, for, when all is saidand done: a man has almost a right to be forgetful when he has just hadhis young wife brought him out of the jaws of death. At least he has agood excuse for it. The sting of the reproof left him bereft of wordsand he stood looking down at the old Risaldar, saying nothing andfeeling very much ashamed. 

"Salaam, Bellairs sahib!" The voice was growing feebler. "I would havedone more for thy father's son! Thou art welcome. Aie! But thy chargeris a good one! Good-by! Time is short, and I would talk with the colonelsahib!"

He waved Bellairs away with a motion of his hand and the lieutenant wentback to his wife again. 

"He sent me away just like that, too!" she told him. "He said he had notime left to talk to women!"

Colonel Carter bent down again above the Risaldar, and listened to asmuch as he had time to tell of what had happened. 

"But couldn't you have ridden round them, Risaldar?" he asked them. 

"Nay, sahib! It was touch and go! I gave the touch! I saw as I rode howclose the issue was and I saw my chance and took it! Had the memsahibbeen slain, she had at least died in full view of the English--and therewas a battle to be won. What would you? I am a soldier--I. "

"Indeed you are!" swore Colonel Carter. 

"Sahib! Call my sons!"

His sons were standing near him, but the colonel called up hisgrandsons, who had been told to stand at a little distance off. Theyclustered round the Risaldar in silence, and he looked them over andcounted them. 

"All here?" he asked. 

"All here!"

"Whose sons and grandsons are ye?"

"Thine!" came the chorus. 

"This sahib says that having done my bidding and delivered her ye rodeto rescue, ye are no more bound to the Raj. Ye may return to your homesif ye wish. "

There was no answer. 

"Ye may fight for the rebels, if ye wish! There will be a safe-permitwritten. "

Again there was no answer. 

"For whom, then, fight ye?"

"For the Raj!" The deep-throated answer rang out promptly from everyone of them, and they stood with their sword-hilts thrust out toward thecolonel. He rose and touched each hilt in turn. 

"They are now thy servants!" said the Risaldar, laying his head back. "It is good! I go now. Give my salaams to General Turner sahib!"

"Good-by, old war-dog!" growled the colonel, in an Anglo-Saxon effort todisguise emotion. He gripped at the right hand that was stretched out onthe ground beside him, but it was lifeless. 

Risaldar Mahommed Khan, two-medal man and pensionlessgentleman-at-large, had gone to turn in his account of how he hadremembered the salt which he had eaten. 

MACHASSAN AH

I. 

Waist-held in the chains and soused in the fifty-foot-high spray, JoeByng eyed his sounding lead that swung like a pendulum below him, andnamed it sacrilege. 

"This 'ere navy ain't a navy no more, " he muttered. "This 'ere's aschool-gal promenade, 'and-in-'and, an' mind not to get your littletrotters wet, that's what this is, so 'elp me two able seamen an' a redmarine!"

From the moment that the lookout, lashed to the windlass drum upforward, had spied the little craft away to leeward and had bellowed hisreport of it through hollowed hands between the thunder of the waves, Joe Byng had had premonitory symptoms of uneasiness. He had felt in hisbones that the navy was about to be nose-led into shame. 

At the wheel, both eyes on the compass, as the sea law bids, but bothears on the more-even-than-usual-alert, Curley Crothers felt the samesensations but expressed them otherwise. 

"Admiral's orders!" he muttered. "Maybe the admiral was drunk?"

The brass gongs clanged down in the bowels of H. M. S. Puncher and shegradually lost what little weigh she had, rolling her bridge ends underin the heave and hollow of a beam-on monsoon sea. 

"How much does he say he wants?" asked her commander. 

Joe Byng in the chains and Curley Crothers at the wheel both recognizedthe quarter tone instantly, and diagnosed it with deadly accuracy;every vibration of his voice and every fiber of his being expressedexasperation, though a landsman might have noticed no more than contemptfor what he had seen fit to log as "half a gale. "

"He says he'll take us in for fifty pounds, sir. "

"Oh! Tell him to make it shillings, or else to get out of my course!"

It is not much in the way of Persian Gulf Arabic that a man picksup from textbooks but at garnering the business end of beach-borndialects--the end that gets results at least expense of timeor energy--the Navy goes even the Army half a dozen better. Thesublieutenant's argument, bawled from the bridge rail to the reelinglittle boat below, was a marvel in its own sweet way; it combined abuseand scorn with a cataclysmic blast of threat in six explosive sentences. 

"He says he'll take us in for ten pounds, sir, " he reported, without thevestige of a smile. 

"Oh! Ask Mr. Hartley to step up on the bridge, will you?"

Two minutes later, during which the nasal howls from the boat wereutterly ignored, the acting chief engineer hauled himself along the railhand over hand to windward, ducking below the canvas guard as a morethan usually big comber split against the Puncher's side and hove itselfto heaven. 

"It beats me how any man can keep a coat on him this weather, " heremarked, and the sublieutenant noticed that the streams that ran downboth his temples were not sea water. "Send for me?"

His temper, judging by his voice, would seem to be a lot worse thancould be due to the pitching of the ship. 

"Yes. There's a pilot overside, and our orders are to take a pilotaboard when running in, if available. There are three men bailing thatboat below there, and the sea's gaining on them. They'll need rescuingwithin two hours. Then we'd have a pilot aboard and would have saved thegovernment ten pounds. Point is, can you manage in the engine-room fortwo or three hours longer? Three more waves like that last one and theman's ours anyway!"

"He might not wait two hours, " suggested Mr. Hartley. "He might gettired of looking at us, and beat back into port. Then where would beyour strategy?"

"Then there wouldn't be a pilot available. I'd be justified in going inwithout one. Point is, can you hold out below?"

"Man, " said Mr. Hartley, "you're a genius. " He peered through the spraydown to leeward, where the pilot's boat danced a death dance alongside, heel and toe to the Puncher's statelier swing. "Yes; there are three menbailing, and you're a genius. But no! The answer's no! The engines'llkeep on turning, maybe and perhaps, until we make the shelter o' yonreef. There's no knowing what a cherry-red bearing will do. I can giveye maybe fifteen knots; maybe a leetle more for just five minutes, forsteerage way and luck, and after that--"

Even crouched as he was against the canvas guard he contrived to shrughis shoulders. 

"But if we go in there are you sure you can contrive to patch her up? Itlooks like a rotten passage, and not much of a berth beyond it. "

"I could cool her down. "

"Oh, if that's all you want, I can anchor outside in thirty fathoms. "

Curley Crothers heard that and his whole frame stiffened; there seemeda chance yet that the Navy might not be disgraced. But it faded on theinstant. 

"Man, we've got to go inside and we've got to hurry! Better in therethan at the bottom of the Gulf! Put her where she'll hold still for aday, or maybe two days--"

"Say a month!" suggested the commander caustically. 

"Say three days for the sake of argument. Then I can put her to rights. I daren't take down a thing while she's rolling twenty-five and more, and I've got to take things down! Why, man, the engine-room is allpollution from gratings to bilge; if I loosened one more bolt than isloose a'ready her whole insides 'ud take charge and dance quadrillesuntil we drowned!"

"You won't try to make Bombay?"

"I'll try to give ye steam as far as the far side o' yon reef. Afterthat I wash my hands of a' responsibility!"

"Oh, very well. Mr. White!"

The sublieutenant hauled himself in turn to windward. Curley Crothersgave the wheel a half-spoke and looked as if he had no interest inanything. Joe Byng in the chains bowed his head and groaned inwardly;his sticky, spray-washed lead seemed all-absorbing. 

"Tell that black robber to hurry aboard, unless he wants me to come inwithout him. "

The little boat had drifted fast before the wind, and the sublieutenanthad to bellow through a megaphone to where the three men bailed and theragged oarsmen swung their weight against the storm. The man of ebony, who would be pilot and disgrace the Navy, balanced on a thwart withwide-spread naked toes and yelled an ululating answer. With his ragsout-blown in the monsoon he looked like a sea wraith come to life. Thebig gongs clanged again, and the Puncher drifted rather than drove downon the smaller craft. A hand line caught the pilot precisely in theface. He grabbed it frantically, fell headlong in the sea, and washauled aboard. 

"He says he wants a tow for that boat of his, " reported thesublieutenant. "Said it in English, too--seems he knows more than hepretends. "

"Missed it, by gad, by just about five minutes!" said the commanderaloud but to himself. "Well--the bargain's made, so it can't be helped. That boat's sinking! Throw 'em a line, quick!"

The pilot's crew displayed no overdone affection for their craft, andthere was no struggle to the last to leave it. One by one--whichevercould grab the line first was the first to come--they were hauledthrough the thundering waves and their boat was left to sink. Then, before they could adjust their unaccustomed feet to the differentbalance of the Puncher's heaving deck, the gongs clanged and thedestroyer leaped ahead like a dripping sea-soused water beetle, into herutmost speed that instant. 

All conscious of his new-won dignity, and utterly regardless of hisboat, the pilot had found the bridge at once. He clung to the rail thereand braced one naked foot against a stanchion. To him the ship's speedseemed the all-absorbing thing, for either Mr. Hartley had forgottenjust how many revolutions would make fifteen knots or else he hadunderestimated his engine-room's capacity. The Puncher split the wavesand spewed them twenty feet above her, racing head-on for the reef, and Curley Crothers was too busy at his wheel to pass the pilot thesurreptitious insult he intended. 

The gongs clanged presently, and the Puncher swallowed half her speed atonce, giving the pilot courage. 

"This exceedingly damn dangerous place, sah!" he remarked. 

"No bottom at eight!" sang Joe Byng in the chains. 

Three words passed between the commander and Crothers, and the Puncherhove a weed-draped underside high over the crest of a beam-on roller asshe veered a dozen points, ducked her starboard rail into the troughof it, and sliced her long thin nose, sizzling and swirling, into thewelter ahead. It was growing weedier and dirtier each minute. 

"No bottom at eight!" chanted Joe Byng. 

And at the sound of his voice the pilot hauled himself up by hisleverage on the rail and found his voice again. 

"This most exceedingly damn dangerous place, sah!"

But the commander was too busy acting all three L's--Log, Lead andLookout--his shrouded figure swaying to the heave and fall and his eyesfixed straight ahead of him on the double line of boiling foam. He hadconned his course and had it charted in his head. There was no time toargue with a pilot. 

"Port you-ah hel-um, sah! Port you-ah hel-um!"

"By the mark--seven!" sang Joe Byng from the chains. 

"Port you-ah hel-um, sah!" yelled the pilot in an ecstasy of fright. 

"Starboard a little, " came the quiet command. 

Curley Crothers moved his wheel and the Puncher's bow yawed twenty feet, as if Providence had pushed her. 

"Gawd A'mighty!" murmured Joe Byng, gazing open-mouthed at fifty feet ofjagged rock that grinned up suddenly three waves away. 

The pilot braced both feet against a stanchion and tried to take theweigh off her by pulling. 

"Half speed, sah! Go slow, sah! Go dead slow, sah! You'll pile up you-ahdamn ship, sah! Ah tell you, sah, you'll pile her up as suah as hell, sah! 'Bout a million sharks round he-ah, sah! For the love o' God, sah--Captain, sah--"

"Oh, muzzle him, some one!" ordered the commander, and the jiggling, complaining engines danced ahead, the horrid gray beneath the pilot'sebony notwithstanding. 

"By the deep--four!" warned Joe Byng in a level sing-song. The two gongsclanged like an echo to him, and the Puncher's speed was reduced atonce to her point, of minimum stability. She rolled and quivered likea living thing in fear, falling on and off, nosing out a passage on herown account apparently, and seeming to be gathering all her strength forone tremendous effort. 

"That's bettah, sah! That's bettah, Captain, sah! Go astern! Thishe-ah's the bar, sah--damn bad place, the bar, sah! Go astern, sah. Captain, sah, d'you he-ah me--go astern! Try again, 'nother placefurther up, sah. Captain, sah! Over that way; that way thar--that way, sah!"

He pointed through the sky-flung spray with a trembling finger and hisvoice was rich with doleful emphasis, but the commander held his courseand carried on. There seemed neither sympathy nor understanding onthat unsteadiest of ships. Curley Crothers, solemn-faced as Nemesis andlooking half as compassionate, moved his wheel a trifle. Joe Byng inthe chains kept up his even sing-song, expressionless, as if he were anautomatic clock that did not care, but must record the truth each timehis dripping pendulum touched bottom. 

"And a half--three!"

White foam was boiling in among the dirty welter, and the Puncher's bowpitched suddenly as the first big bar wave lifted her; a second laterher propellers chug-chug-chugged in surface spume as she kicked upwardlike a porpoise diving. 

"Oh, lordy, lordy, lordy!" groaned the pilot. "This he-ah watah's fullof sharks, an' that's the bar! You're on the bar now, Captain, sah!"

"By the mark--three!" Byng chanted steadily. 

"Starboard a little more, " said the commander leaning forward andshoving the pilot away to leeward at the same time. Then he shouted tothe fo'castle head, where a bosun's mate and his crew had climbed andwere awaiting orders in evident and most unreasonable unconcern. 

"Get both anchors ready!"

"Aye, aye, sir!" came the answer, and efficiency controlled by expertsproceeded at kaleidoscopic angles to defy the elements. The big steelhooks were ready in an instant. 

"Stop her!" ordered the commander. 

The gongs clanged out an alarm and the throbbing ceased. 

"Hard astern, both engines!"

Again there was a clangor under hatches, and the suffering bearingsshrieked. The Puncher dropped her stern two feet or so, and the foamboiled brown round her propellers. The shock of the reversal pitched thepilot up against the forward rail, where he clung like a drowning man. 

"For the love o' God, sah! Captain; sah, we've struck! Ah told you so;Ah said--"

"And a half-three!" chanted Joe Byng. 

"Stop her! Starboard engine ahead! Port engine ahead! Ease your helm!Meet her! Half speed ahead!"

The Puncher pitched and rolled, kicking at the following monsoon thatthundered at her counter and tossing up the foam that seethed about herbow. She trembled from end to end, as if the pounding of the water hurther. 

"Helm amidships!" ordered the commander suddenly. 

"'Midships, sir!"

"Full speed ahead, both engines!"

The Puncher leaped, as all destroyers do the second day they are loosed. She sliced through the storm straight for the coral beach beyond thebar, shaking her graceful shoulders free of the sticky spray--reeling, rolling, thugging, kicking, bucking through the welter to wherequiet water waited and the ever-lasting, utterly unrighteous stink ofsun-baked Arab beaches. As each tremendous breaker thundered on herstern each time she lifted to the underswell, the pilot vowed thatshe had struck, rolling his eyes and calling two different deities towitness that none of it was any fault of his. 

"Thar's no water, sah--no water, Captain, sah--not one drop! You'vepiled up you-ah ship! Ah told you so; Ah said--"

"By the deep--four!"

"And a half-four!"

"By the mark--five!"

The Puncher was across the bar, gliding through muddy water on an evenkeel and giving the lie direct to him whose fee was ten pounds English. The pilot drew a talisman of some kind from underneath the least tornportion of his shirt, and to the commander's amazement kissed it. It isnot often that a woolly headed, or any other, native of the East kisseseither folk or things. But the commander was too busy at the moment toask questions. 

"Have your starboard anchor ready!" he commanded, making mental notes. 

"Ready, sir!"

The glittering, wet, wind-blown beach and the little estuary slid bylike a painted panorama smelling of all the evil in the world as thePuncher eased her helm a time or two seeking a comfortable berth withJoe Byng's chanted aid. 

"Let go twenty fathoms!"

The pilot sighed relief as the starboard anchor splashed into the waterand the cable roared after it through the hawse pipe. 

"What nationality are you?" asked the commander, watching the Puncherswing and gaging distances, but sparing one eye now for his unwelcomebut official guest. 

"Me, sah?"

"Yes, you. "

The pilot looked anywhere but at his questioner, and a picture passedbefore the commander's eyes--a memory, perhaps, of something he hadread about at school--of Christians in Nero's day being asked what theirreligion was. 

"Are you afraid to tell me?" he asked, softening his voice to a kindertone as he remembered that God did not make all men Englishmen, andturning just in time to cause Crothers to withdraw his right leg. 

The pilot's toes were, after all, not destined to be trodden on justthen. 

"No, sah, Ah'm not afraid. "

"What are you, then?"

"Ah'm--"

"Well? What?"

"Ah'm English!"

"What?"

"Captain, sah, Ah'm English!"

"Oh! Are you? Um-m-m! Mr. White, give this man his ten pounds, will you?And get his receipt for it. "

That appeared to end matters, so far as the commander was concerned;official dignity forbade any further interest. But it was not so verylong since Mr. White was senior midshipman, and it takes a man untilhe is admiral of the fleet to unlearn all he knew then and forget thecuriosity of those days. 

"Now, I should have thought you were a Scotchman, " he suggested withoutsmiling, studying the salt-encrusted wrinkles on the ebony face. "Youlike whisky?"

"Yes, sah--positively, sah! Yes, Captain, sah--Ah do!"

Mr. White sent for whisky and poured out a stiff four fingers, to theawful disgust of Curley Crothers, who saw the whole transaction. Thepilot consumed it so instantly that there seemed never to have been anyin the glass. 

"I suppose your name's Macnab--or Macphairson--which? Sign here, please. "

The pilot took the proffered pen in unaccustomed fingers and made acrisscross scrawl, adorned with thirteen blots. The pen nib brokeunder the strain, and he handed it back with an air of confidentialremonstrance. 

"That thing's no mo-ah good, " he volunteered. 

"So I see. Now tell me your name in full, so that I can write it next tothe mark. It's a wonder of a mark! Mac--what's the rest of it?"

"Hassan Ah. "

"Machassan?"

"No, sah. Hassan Ah. "

"And you're English?"

"Yes, sah. "

"With that name?"

"Mah name makes no diffunts, sah. Ah'm English. "

"Well--here's your money. Cutter away, there! Put the pilot and his crewashore! Sorry about your boat, pilot, but it couldn't be helped. "

"Makes me believe that I'm a nigger!" muttered Curley Crothers, not yetreleased from duty on the bridge. 

"First time I ever wished I was a Dutchman!" swore Joe Byng, coiling uphis sounding line. 

Ten minutes later the cutter's captain swung the boat's stern in shorewhen he judged that he was reasonably near enough and too far in forsharks. He had his orders to put the pilot and his crew ashore, but themeans had not been too exactly specified. 

"Get out and swim for it, you bally Englishman!" he ordered, using aboat-hook on the nearest one to make his meaning clear. 

One by one they jumped for it, the pilot going last. He plainly did notunderstand the point of view. 

"Ah'm English!" he expostulated. "Lissen he-ah, Ah'm English! DamwellEnglish!"

"All right; let's see you swim, English!" jeered the cutter's captain, and the pilot took the water with a splash. 

"Ah su-ah am English!" he vowed, as he swam for the shore, and he stoodby the sea's edge repeating his assertion with a leathery pair of lungsuntil the cutter had rowed out of ear-shot. 

"English, is he?" said Joe Byng to Curley Crothers in the fo'castle, not twenty minutes later. "I'd show him, if I had him in here for twentyminutes!"

"That fellow's interested me, " said Crothers. "He's got me thinking. Ivote we investigate him. "

"How?"

"Ashore, fathead. "

"There'll be no shore leave. "

"No? You left off being wet nurse to the dawg?" "I brush him, mornin's;if that's what you mean. "

"Is he fit?"

"Fit to fight a bumboat full o' pilots!"

"Could he be sick for an hour?"

"Might be did. "

"Tomorrow?"

"Morning?"

"At about two bells?"

"It could be done. "

"Then do it!"

"Why?"

"Because, Joe Byng my boy, you and I want shore leave; and the pup--andhe's a decent pup--must suffer for to make a 'tween-deck holiday. Get mymeaning? I've a propagandrum that'll work this tide. You go and set thefuse in the pup's inside; and mind you, time it right, my son--for twobells when the old man's in the chair!"

So Joe Byng, who was something of an expert in the way and ways ofdogs, departed in search of an oiler with whom he was on terms ofcondescension; and he returned to the fo'castle a little later withthe nastiest, most awful-smelling mess that ever emanated even from theengine-room of a destroyer in the Persian Gulf (where grease and thingsrun rancid. )

II. 

Lying lazily at anchor off the reeking beach of Adra Bight, the Puncherlooked peaceful and complacent--which is altogether opposite to what sheand her commander were, or had been, for a month. The ship hummed hershut-in discontent, as a hive does when the bees propose to swarm, andher commander--who never, be it noted, went to windward of the one word"damn"--used that one word very frequently. 

He sat "abaft the mainmast" at a table that was splotched already withabundant perspiration, and the acting engineer who stood in front of himshifted from foot to foot in attitudes expressive of increasing agonyof mind. It grew obvious at last that there was a limit to Mr. Hartley'sstore of courteous deference. 

There had been news, red hot but wrong, of dhows loaded to thewater-line with guns and ammunition somewhere up the Gulf. India, everfretful for her tribes beyond the border, had borrowed Applewaite andhis destroyer by instant cablegram, and jealously held records had beenbroken while the Puncher quartered those indecent seas and heated up herbearings. It was almost too much to have to come back empty-handed. Itwas quite too much to have to run for shelter under the lee of Adra'suninviting coral reef. And to be told by an acting engineer thathe would have to stay a week was utterly beyond the scope of politeconversation. 

"Why a week?" asked Commander Applewaite, with eyebrows raised to thenth power of incredulity. 

"Why a week?" asked Mr. Hartley, breaking down the barrier ofself-restraint at last. "I'll tell you why. Because, although the gutsof her are so much scrap-iron, you've a crew of engineers who couldbuild machinery of hell-slag--build it, mind--and could get steam out o'the Sahara, where there isn't any water at all. 

"Because--conditional upon the act o' God and your permission--I'mwilling to perform a miracle. Because the whole engine-room complementis dancing mad for shore leave, and there'll be none this side o'Bombay; and because, in consequence o' that, creation would be a mildname for what's about to happen under gratings until the shafts revolveagain. Man, I wish ye'd take one peep at her bearings, though yewouldn't understand. 

"Because you're lucky; any other engineer in all the navies o' the worldwould take a month to tinker with her, even if he didn't have to send toBombay for a tow. Because--"

"That'll do!" said Applewaite, his mind wandering already in searchof suitable employment for the crew. "Get the repairs done as soon aspossible; we stay here until you have finished what is necessary. "

It looked like an evil moment for asking favors, but it was the timelaid down in Regulations when such things as favors may be had; andit was the moment Curley Crothers had picked out for asking for shoreleave. 

"Come 'ere, Scamp. Come along, Scamp. Come along 'ere--good boy!" hecoaxed, dragging by a short chain in his wake the sorriest-lookingbull terrier that ever acted mascot in the British or any other navy. Courteous and huge and cap in hand, his weather-beaten face smilingrespectfully above a snow-white uniform, he took his stand before thelittle table. His outward bearing was one of certainty, but hisshrewd, slightly puckered eyes alternately conned the expression of hiscommander's face and watched the dog. 

The lee, scuppers were the goal of the dog's immediate ambition, for hewas a well-brought-up dog and such of the decencies as were not his byinstinct he had learned by painful and repeated acquisition. But at themoment Curley Crothers showed a wondrous disregard for etiquette. 

"He's very sick, sir, " he asserted, tugging a little at the chain inthe hope of producing instant proof of his contention. But the dog wasgamiest of the game, and swallowed hurriedly. 

"Well? I'm not a vet. What about it?"

"The whole ship's crew 'ud be sorry, sir, if 'e was to lose 'is number. He's the best mascot this ship ever had, by all accounts. "

"He hasn't brought us much luck this run!" smiled Applewaite, remembering a long list of "previous convictions" and wondering whatCrothers might be up to next. 

"No, sir? We're still a-top o' the water, sir. "

"Oh! He gets the credit for that, eh? But for him, I suppose we'd havepiled up on the reef yesterday?"

"Saving your presence, sir. "

Curley Crothers made a gesture expressive of a world of compliment andpraise, but he kept one eye steadily on the dog; he seemed to implythat but for the presence of the dog on board the commander might haveforgotten his seamanship. 

"Well? What do you suggest?"

"Seeing the poor dog's sick, sir, and you and all of us so fond of him, and all he needs is exercise, I thought perhaps as 'ow you'd order mean' Byng, sir, to take 'im for a run ashore. There'd be jackals andpi-dogs for 'im to chase. A bit o' sport 'ud set 'im up in a jiffy. He'slanguishing--that's what's the matter with him. "

There were almost tears in his voice as he tugged at the chainsurreptitiously, in a vain effort to produce the cataclysm that wasoverdue. But for all his efforts to appear affected, his eyes weresmiling. So were his commander's. 

"Why Byng?" he asked. 

"Byng cleans him, sir. He knows Byng. "

"Then, why you?"

"Why; he knows me too, sir, and between the two of us, we'd manage himproper. S'posin' he was to get huntin' on his own and one of us wastired out chasin' him, t'other could run and catch him. If there wasonly one of us, he couldn't. "

"I see. Well? One of the other men might take him on the chain. Agood-conduct man, for instance. "

Crothers tugged at the chain, and the unhappy dog drew away toward thescuppers with all his remaining strength. 

"He's cussed about the chain, sir--apt to drag on it and try to chaw itthrough. Besides, sir, when a dawg's sick, he's like a man--same as mean' you; he likes to 'ave 'is partic'lar pals with 'im. Now, that dawg'sfond o' me an' Byng. '

"I see. But supposing exercise isn't what he wants after all? Suppose heneeds a long rest and lots of sleep? How about that?"

The argument had reached a crisis, and Curley realized it. Joking ornot, when the commander of a ship takes too long in reaching a decisionhe generally does not reach a favorable one. The leash was tuggedagain, this time with some severity. The martyred Scamp was drawn onhis protesting haunches close to the official table, that the commandermight have a better view of his distress. And then the expectedhappened--voluminously. 

Curley stood with an expression of wooden-headed, abject innocence onhis big, broad face, and looked straight in front of him. 

"He certainly is sick, sir, " he remarked. 

"Sick. Good heavens! The dog's turning himself inside out! That's thelast time a thing like this happens; he's the last dog I ever take ona cruise. Take him away at once! Bosun--call some one to wipe up thatdisgusting mess!"

"Take him ashore, did you say, sir?"

"Take him out of this! Take him anywhere you like! Yes, take him ashoreand lose him--feed him to the sharks--give him to the Arabs--take himaway, that's all!"

"Me and Byng, sir?"

"Yes, you and Byng! Did you hear me tell you to take him away?"

"Very good, sir; thank you!"

Curley Crothers saluted without the vestige of a smile, and hurriedoff before the dog could show too early signs of recovering health andstrength or the commander could change his mind. 

"Come on, Scamp, " he whispered. "That was nothing but a temporarydisaccommodation to your tummy, doglums; we'll soon have you to rightsagain. "

He dived into the fo'castle with the dog behind him, and there werethose who noticed that the terrier's whip-like tail no longer hugged hisstomach, but was waving to the world at large. 

And thirty minutes later, as the Puncher's launch put off with Curleyand Joe Byng comfortably seated in the stern, it was obvious to any onewho cared to look that Scamp was the happiest and healthiest terrier inAsia. 

"Now, I wonder what they did to him, " mused the Puncher's commander, watching from beneath his awning. "Those two men live up to the namethey brought aboard! I believe they'd find means and a good excuse forwalking to windward of a First Sea Lord!"

III. 

Now an Arab would as soon allow a dog to lick his face as he would thinkof eating pork in public with his women folk; so the bearded, hook-nosedbelievers in the Prophet who looked down from the rock wall that linesone side of Adra knew what to think of Curley and his friend Joe Bynglong before either of them realized that they were being watched. 

Arrayed from head to ankles in spotless white, their black boots lookingblacker by comparison, they proceeded in the general direction of thedistant village, with the order and decorum of sea lords descending ona dockyard for inspection purposes. The trackless sand proved hotand sharp; the dog proved in poor condition from the voyage and themorning's incidental martyrdom, and Byng was generous-hearted. Hepicked up the dog and carried him; and Scamp displayed his gratitude incustomary canine way. 

The comments of the watching Arabs would not fit into any story in theworld, and it is quite as well that Crothers and Joe Byng did not hearthem and could not have translated them, for in the other case troublewould have started even sooner than it did. As it was, they tumbled andmaneuvered over unresisting sand through almost tangible stench to wherea gap in the ragged wall did duty as a gate. As they came nearer, abanner with the star and crescent was displayed from the wall-top, butno other sign was given that their coming was observed. 

It was not until they had debouched (as Crothers termed it) to theirhalf-right front and had taken to a narrow one-man track that ran belowthe wall that any over attention was paid them. Suddenly a hook-nosedAsiatic gentleman emerged through the once-was gateway--a picture ofa Bible shepherd but for the long-barreled gun he carried instead ofcrook--a brown shadow against brown masonry. He challenged them inArabic, and Curley Crothers answered him in Queen Victoria's Englishthat all was well. 

"Everything in the garden's lovely!" he asserted, in a deep-seasing-song. "How's yourself?"

The man repeated whatever he had said before, this time with a gestureof impatience. 

"Friend!" roared Byng and Curley both together. And the bull terriertook the joint yell for a war cry, or a bunting call, or possibly theherald's overture that summons bull pups to Valhalla. He was bred rightand British Navy trained and his was not to reason why. He waited forno second invitation, but lit out from Byng's arms like a streak--awhip-tail, snow-white streak--for where the Arab's hard lean legs shoneshiny-brown below his fluttering brown raiment. 

"Come back, there!" yelled both keepers in excited unison, but theycalled too late. 

Each grabbed for the chain too late. Their heads and shoulders cannonedand they fell together on the hot, dirty sand while Scamp and the Arabmade each other's intimate acquaintance in a whirl of ripping cloth andlegs and teeth and blasphemy. 

That in itself was bad enough, and good enough excuse if such werewanted for war between the Shadow of God Upon Earth and England'sdistant Queen; but there was worse to follow. 

One does not laugh, between certain parallels, unless the ultimatedegree of insult is intended. And Curley Crothers and Joe Byng didlaugh. They held their ribs and laughed until their muscles ached andtheir strong men's strength oozed out of them. 

They were laughing when they grabbed the dog at last and pulled him off. They laughed as they set the Arab on his feet and gave him back his gun;and they laughed at him with Christian and mannerly good grace when hespat at them in awful frenzy until the spittle matted in his beard. And, being gentlemen after a fashion quite their own, they smilinglyapologized. 

Arabia lies in the middle of the zone where laughter is not wisdom. And a smile lies midway in the measure of a laugh. A laugh might beunintentional. A smile must be deliberate. And the Arab's spittle wasrun dry. Creed, custom, law of tooth for tooth and the thought of halfa hundred co-religionists all watching him from crannies in the wallcombined to make him shoot, since further means of showing malice weredenied him; and he raised the long butt to his shoulder with meaningthat was unmistakable. 

And so, with sorrow that the East should be so lacking in goodfellowship, but with the ready instinct of men who have been trained forwar, they closed with him from two directions, swiftly, bull-dog-wise, and took his gun away. And how could even an able seaman help the dog'staking a share in the game again?

So far, nobody had done anything intended to be wrong--least of all thedog. The Arab was defending institutions; Crothers and Joe Byng werebent on holiday, and full of kind regards for anything that lived; andthe dog was living dogfully up to well-bred-terrier tradition. It was asif two harmless chemicals had met and blended into nitroglycerin. 

Deprived of his gun, the Arab drew a knife; and no British sailor liveswho does not understand the quick-loosed answer to the glint of steel. Fist and boot both landed on the Arab quicker than his own thoughtserved the knife, and the weight of quick concussions jarred him intoall but coma. This time Byng caught the dog in time and held him back, leaving Curley Crothers to finish matters by making the long knife prizeof war. Once more he helped the Arab on his feet, smiling hugely andgentling the iron sinews with huge paws that could have wrenched themall apart if need be. 

"Take my advice, cully, and weigh quick!" he counseled, looking the Arabover and making sure the unfortunate had not been too much hurt. "Runfor shelter where you can cool your bearings! Run off to the mosque andpray, to make up for all that cussing. Go and be good! And next time youmeets us, be friendly--see?"

The Arab was too apoplectically angry to comply, but Crothers took himby both shoulders and shoved him; and finding himself shot forwardout of reach, seeing safety ahead and its possible corollary of awfulvengeance, he suddenly achieved discretion and scampered through the gapin the wall. 

"'E's gone to fetch his pals. Look out, mate!" warned Joe Byng. 

"Not 'im!" vowed Crothers. "'E's 'ad enough, that's all! We've seen thelast of 'im!"

And the most amazing thing of all was that Crothers believed just whathe said--Curley Crothers, to whom Red Sea and Persian Gulf ports wereas an open book, and to whom the Arab customs and religion andreprehensible tendencies were currently supposed to be first-readerknowledge. It was he who had proved there were no harems--he who coinedthe Navy adage, "Search an Arab first, and sit on him, before you cometo terms!"

Yet here he was, advising Byng to disregard a looted Arab's spittle!There is no accounting, ever, for the ways of shore-leave sailor-men. 

"Come on, Joe, " he said. "Lead 'the dawg--he can walk now--and let's seewhat Adra looks like. "

IV. 

All might have been well, and both seamen might have reached the Puncheragain with dignity and grace, had they not entered Adra, past theonly jail in that part of Arabia. And an Arab jail being rarer and onepercent more evil than any other evil thing there is, the two of themquite naturally paused to make its closest possible acquaintance. 

"Look out for vermin!" cautioned Curley, standing on tiptoe to peer inthrough the close-spaced iron bars. 

They forgot the dog. The jail, for the moment, challenged all theirwaking senses, the olfactory by no means least. 

"Can you see anything?" asked Byng. 

Before Crothers could answer him, a snarl, then a yap, then a quick, determined growl gave warning of the terrier's interest in somethingelse than fleas. 

He had been scratching himself peacefully a moment earlier; now, like abower anchor taking charge, he ripped the chain through Byng's hand andwas off--chin, back and tail in one straight, striving line--in fullchase of a pariah. 

The yellow cur yapped its agony of fear; the nearest hundred and oddmangy monsters of the gutter took up the chorus; within five secondsof the start there was the Puncher's mascot racing after one abominablescavenger, and after him in just as hot pursuit there raced the wholestreet-cleaning force of Adra--tongues out, eyes blazing, and their meanthin barks all working overtime. 

"Good-by, Scamp!" groaned Byng, estimating rapidly. 

"Not yet it ain't!" said Crothers, grabbing Byng's arm and nearlytearing out the muscles. 

It was a crude way of rousing Byng's latent speed, both of thought andmovement, but it worked. Before Joe could swear, even, Crothers wasoff like the wind, with Joe after him, using the string of oaths he hadmeant for Crothers on the sand that gave under him and made him stumbleat every other stride. 

Adra turned out, as a colony of prairie dogs might from planlessburrows; only these had more venom in their bite than prairie dogs andcame from structural instead of natural, from flea-bepeppered instead ofgrass-grown dirt. Man, woman and child--the grown men armed, the womenveiled in dirt-brown, some of them, and some (mostly the better-looking)unveiled and unashamed, the little children mostly naked and coloredwith all the human hues there are--raced, yelling, through a swarm offlies in hot pursuit. Never since Shem's great-grandson gat the Arabrace was there a procession like it. 

Behind its mud-and-Masonry decrepit wall that guards only the seawardside, Adra straggles quite a distance desertward; and there are windingstreets enough to hide an army in, provided that the army did not mindthe fleas. Scamp, view-halloaing his utmost, led that most amazing hunta quite considerable circuit before other men and dogs, arriving from adozen different directions, set a limit to his unobstructed movement. 

He knew what he was after, but they did not; they had come to see. For amoment they seemed to think that Scamp was the object of the chase, anda dozen guns of a dozen different kinds and dates were aimed at him. 

And then, as consciousness dawns on a man recovering from chloroform, there swept over their lethargic Eastern brains the simultaneous ideathat Curley Crothers and Joe Byng were the real quarry; and--again likemen recovering from chloroform--they did not quite know what to do. Should they slay, there was the Puncher to be reckoned with; and thePuncher's port quick-firers could be seen commanding Adra by any man whocared to climb the wall. 

Besides, an Arab's hospitality is proverbial. He very seldom kills avisitor on sight. 

On the other hand a man, and particularly a British sailor, who runshas reason, as a rule. Therefore these two men were evidently guilty. Therefore they must not escape. In five seconds the affair had changedfrom a spectacular amusement, with Adra's population in the role ofsuper-heated audience, to a hunt of Crothers and Joe Byng. 

Within ten seconds each of the sailors lay with his face pressed hardinto the sand and at least a dozen Arabs sitting on him. Scamp--utterlyforgotten now by all except the sailors--still behind the one straypariah and ahead of all the rest but beginning to appreciate the factthat he was hunted, and beginning to feel spent--raced on, took threesharp turns in close succession, and was gathered all unwilling in thearms of an enormous black man who snatched him from the very teethof the following pack and dispersed them, howling, by means ofwell-directed kicks. 

"Ah seed you yesterday, Ah did, " said his deliverer in English; and, recalling principle, the terrier bit at him--only to find himselfmuzzled by a horny, huge fist that caressed even while it renderedimpotent. 

"Ah'm fond of little dogs! Ah'm English!"

Scamp understood nothing of the conversation, but with canine instinctrealized that he was safe; and after that he was satisfied to lie andpant. With five red inches of tongue hanging out, and no sign whateverof his white-uniformed guardians to trouble him, a black man's arms wereas good as any other place; he did not waste half a thought on Byng andCrothers. 

But Byng, three turnings back, spat filthy sand out of his mouth themoment an Arab deemed it safe to leave off sitting on his head, lookedwildly around for Crothers, and bellowed--

"Where's the pup?"

Crothers, spitting out sand, too, twenty yards behind where the swifterByng had fallen, called back:

"Dunno. Whistle him!"

Byng tried to whistle, and the Arabs mistook the effort for a signal. Inan instant both men were face-downward again, struggling for breathand clawing at the dirt. Then worse befell. The gentleman whose brownanatomy had suffered from the seamen's feet and fists just previous totheir invasion of the town limped up with his eye teeth showing and hisflapping cotton raiment still unmended where the dog had torn it. Anyother wrath, however awful, could be nothing but the shadow of his stateof mind; and since he knew the more vindictive portions of the Koran allby heart, and was quoting as he came, there was little need of words toillustrate further his attitude. 

He seemed to be a person of authority. An Arab town or village is ademocracy in which each free man has his say; not even a sheik canoverrule the vote of a majority, and this man was no sheik. But rageand self-assertion will generally exercise a certain weight in tribalcouncils, and the crowd in this case was too doubtful of the facts tohave any settled notions of its own. 

"To the jail with them!" the new arrival almost shrieked, and about adozen in the crowd took up the cry--

"To jail with them!"

"Infidels! Worshipers of dogs! Wine-drinkers! Eaters of pig flesh! Dogsand the sons of dogs--what mothers gave them birth? Are your hands, True-believers, fit bonds for them? To the jail! To the jail that AbdulHamid caused his men to build for such as these!"

He stooped and looked deliberately to make sure that Crothers could notbreak away, then came closer and spat on him, saving half his spittlewith impartial forethought for the struggling Byng, who looked upin time to see what was in store for him. Being spat on is even lessexhilarating than it sounds or looks, and Byng waxed speechless afterpassing through a many-worded stage of blasphemy. 

Crothers, the larger of the two and by six brawny inches morephlegmatic, bode his time in silence, so that neither of them spoke aword while they were hustled and cuffed along the street between theunbaked brick hovels. It was not until the reinforced iron door ofAdra's one stone building slammed on them that either of them said aword. 

Then--

"I'm not a mean man, " protested Crothers. 

"No?" said Byng, monosyllabic for a start. 

"No, " repeated Crothers, "I am not, Joe Byng. But--and I says it solemn;I says it with one 'and above my 'ed, and I'd take my affidavy on it ina court o' law, if it's the last word I ever does say an' it's my dyingoath--so 'elp me Solomon and all 'is glory; I'm a Dutchman if I wouldn'tlike to 'ave a come-back at that Arab. "

Byng lay full length on his stomach, and buried his face in his arms. Hewas still too full of wrath for words. 

"I'd kick his mother, if I couldn't land on him, " mused Crothers. And then he busied himself about conning his new bearings. It was afour-walled jail--one-doored, one-windowed, iron-barred--ill-smelling, verminous, too hot for words and too suggestive of the opposite of home, sweet home to call forth humor, even from a seaman. 

"They'll come an' rescue us, " moaned Byng. "They'll quarantine the pairof us for being lousy, and they'll turn the perishing salt-water hoseon us. We're due for the brig for Gawd knows 'ow long; our reppitation'sgone; we've been spat on by a--by a Arab, and we 'aven't hit 'im back;an' we've lost the pup. We've gone an' lost the pup! Gawd! There ain'tno more good in nothin'!"

Which shows no more than that Joe Byng in his sorrow overlooked acircumstance or two. For instance, there were rings in the floor thatCrothers eyed with keen curiosity. They were anchored in the solidblocks of stone. 

"It's better than it might be, mate!" he argued optimistically. "Theymight 'ave gone and chained us up to those!"

V. 

Arabia has some peculiarities, not all of them discreditable, which shedoes not share with any other country. There is, for instance, the kindcustom that dictates the setting free of slaves when they have renderedseven years' good service. 

That rule (and it is rather rule than law) tends to eliminate all classand color prejudice. Provided that a man will bow to Mecca three timesdaily and refrain from pork and wine, he may wear whatever skin God gavehim and yet mingle with the best. He may even marry whom he will andcan afford; and he may be whatever his ability, ambition, and audacitydictate. 

And Hassan Ah had never been a slave, so he had even less to overcomethan might have been the case. He stalked Adra socially uncondemnedwhere once he had caught fish, groomed camels, and done other irritatingjobs. His old fish-catching days had given him an intimate acquaintancewith the reef, and his small-boat seamanship, born of hard pulling inthe trough of beam-on-seas, was well suited to the local type of craft. 

So nobody questioned his right to the title of harbor pilot. And ifcertain perquisites went with an otherwise barren office, that was tobe expected. Who worked for nothing, or for the empty honor of it, inArabia?

Nobody can pass the reef at night in shallow-draft lateen-sail boatswithout having him on board; and though he was never ostensibly paidfor his services, it was understood that he performed pilot service inreturn for certain other opportunities that sometimes came his way. Whenthings happened on the high sea that were not discussed in public, itwas understood that Hassan Ah could have discussed them as thoroughly asanybody if he chose. 

On the whole, then, and within limits that were only more or lessdefinable, he was something of a personality. Men listened to him whenhe raised his voice in argument, and as one who could grant favors onoccasion his words had weight. 

The sun was very nearly in its zenith, beating down on dry Arabiabetween racing black clouds, when he had finished talking to the localcouncil in the ramshackle old council-house, skin and mat curtained, that faced the sheik's where the main street broadened for a hundredfilthy yards into a market-place. All through his argument he had held apure-white bull terrier between his knees as proof that he knew whereofhe spoke. 

"Can any of you hold him without being bitten?" he demanded. And theydid not seem to care to try. 

"I know the ways of these men!" he asserted, drawing extravagantexpressions of contentment from the dog in proof of it. 

So the others in the stuffy council place gave the dog a wide berth andno privilege, but conceded him the right to hold the beast, if he wantedto, without personal defilement. And since the way of the world is thata man who has won the first of his contentions can win all the restwith half the ease, he persuaded them with a hurricane of black man'srhetoric to do what Arabs consider almost wicked. 

Unbelievers who are prisoners should die, beyond all question. 

"As the dregs of oil shall the fruit of the tree of Al Zakkum boil inthe bellies of the damned!" the sheik quoted. "They should be hurried, therefore, to the punishment that waits!"

But Hassen Ah outargued him. 

"Then they will land men from the ship, who will search our houses, "he asserted. "Is there a majority in the council who would like to besearched by unbelievers?"

"Then bind them, and take them to their ship, and tell a tale of muchdrunkenness and wrong-doing. Ask an indemnity, and show the proofs, which will be easy to arrange. "

"They, too, will tell their tale!" said Hassan Ah in perfect Arabic. 

Unlike the more enlightened peoples of the West, Arabs do not encouragethe mutilation of their mother-tongue; they teach it as carefully asthey talk it, and this negro spoke like an Arab of the blood. 

"There are certain damages they have received--some bruises on theface and tears in the clothing that does not belong to them but theirgovernment, " he continued. "They would lay all the blame on us, andwould breathe in the face of an appointed man, in proof that they werenot drunk. And who could get other drink than coffee or water here? Andwho would believe the rest of our story, having found that part to bea lie? There would be a landing, and a search for proof, and muchunpleasantness. Besides--"

If he had intended to add further arguments, the sheik saw fit to nipthem in the bud; for there were some men in the council-room who did notknow as much as Hassan Ah. Any free man may speak in council in Arabia. 

"What is thy way, then?" he asked. 

The woolly headed pilot laughed aloud, taking care to make it evidentthat he was laughing at the prisoners; to laugh at a sheik or a sheik'sbewilderment would be too dangerous. 

"I would send them to the ship well satisfied, " he answered. 

"With money?" asked the sheik. 

"With whose money?" asked Hassan Ah. 

"With thine?" shot back the sheik. 

"In the name of Allah, no!"

The black man laughed again, and rose to lean against the wall behindhim, gathering the dog up in his arms. 

"If it is the order of the council, " he asserted, "I will send them backsatisfied, with a tale to tell that will bring about no landing. Also, Iwill give the council much amusement. "

"But will other sailors land afterward, seeking similar amusement?"asked the sheik. 

"No! There will be an order that none land!"

The sheik took a vote on it. Heads nodded solemnly all around the roomas his eyes sought each half-veiled face in turn. His own face wasalmost altogether shielded by the brown linen head-dress, for men ofhis race like to reach a judgment unobserved. They were all nods thatanswered him, and he saw fit to keep his own opinion to himself. 

"Thou seest? These others are all with thee. Have it thine own way, Hassan Ah. Unlock thou the riddle and on thy head be the answer! Thouhast our leave to go. "

So Hassan Ah set out undaunted for the jail, with a terrier in towbehind him and a huge smile on his broad-beamed face. And behind him amurmur rose that:

"It was well. He brought the warship in, instead of leaving it outsideor--as any wise man would have done--wrecking it on the outer reef, where it could have been plundered at discretion. Let him send thesailors back again and bear the consequences!"

And within a minute of the pilot's arrival at the window of the jail(through which he peered for two minutes before speaking) the wholeof Adra's council, followed by the city's children in a noisy horde, proceeded in a cluster after him and took up position, each as he sawfit, at different vantage points. 

Then Hassan Ah shook a loose bar of the window until it rattled, and socalled attention to himself. Crothers and Joe Byng raced for the windowneck and neck, and reached it simultaneously. 

"You two men want you-ah dog?" asked Hassan Ah, and the chained dogleaped up at the window as both men swore at once. 

"You pass him in here! Come on, you black-faced cornerman! There'll bea cutter's crew ashore pretty soon to rescue us, and if you don't handthat dog over before they get here you'll get the worst whipping youever had in all your black life!"

"They'll feed you to the dog when they're through with you!" vowed Byng. 

"Come on, MacHassan!" ordered Crothers. "Get the key and pass thedog in. That'll settle your account. T hen you's free. You needn't be'fraid. "

"Ah'm English, " said the pilot of the day before, with an enormous grinthat showed a pound or two of yellow ivory. "Ah'm not afraid; Ah canlick you; Ah can fight same as you men. Ah'm English!"

"Fight? You Irish Chink! Which of us two do you want to fight?" askedthe outraged Byng. "Come on in here! I'll fight you!"

But to Byng's amazement Hassan Ah pointed to Crothers, who was heavierby forty pounds or more and taller by at least half a head. 

"Ah choose him!" he grinned; and Curley Crothers clenched both fists inabsolute but quite unterrified amazement. 

"Come on, then, " he answered. "Open the door. " Then, as anafterthought--"I'll fight you for the dog. "

"Ah don't want to kill that little man, " said Hassan Ah. "But Ah'll giveyou the dog, win or lose, if you'll fight me. You fight fair? You fightEnglish?"

"Well, I'm damned!" said Crothers. "I fight Queensberry rules. That suityou?"

"Oh-ah, yes! Keensby rules, that's it. All right-o!"

Hassan Ah produced his key and turned it in the creaking lock. He wasstripping himself even before the two sailors were out in the sun, andby the time that Crothers and Joe Byng had realized that there wasan audience of something like a thousand, including children, he wasstanding posed like a gladiator, with the straight-down tropic sunstreaming off his ebony hide. As Crothers, not quite sure even yet thatthe whole affair was not a joke, began to doff his blouse it dawned onhim that if the thing were true it would not be a picnic. 

"Do you mean this?" he asked. 

"Ah shohly do. Are you afraid o' me?"

That, of course, settled matters. The thing was not a joke, andEnglishman or nigger--black, green, white, or gray--the plot must belicked forthwith and in accordance with the rules. 

Crothers spat into his hands, while Joe Byng folded up his blouse andknelt on it. He eyed his antagonist for at least a minute, summing himup and ignoring none of the woolly-headed one's physical advantages inweight and strength, in height and reach, in being used to the climateand the glare, the odds were all with Hassan Ah. Then he sized up themoral odds; and though a biased audience might be at first supposed toweigh against him too, the sight of all those Arabs waiting to see himbeaten roused his fighting dander. 

"Do you represent the bloke that spat on us two men?" asked Crothers. 

"Ah represent maself! Ah'm English! Ah fight English, and Ah'll proveit!"

"Aw, wade into him!" advised Joe Byng. "London Prize Rules--no timecalled until a man's down. Go on, Curley--lead!"

"Do you agree?" asked Crothers. 

"Suttainly!" The black man seemed disposed to agree to anything so longas he could get what he was after. 

"Then here goes!" said Crothers; and he stepped in and led for the honorof the British Navy. 

Oh! It was a fight! Crothers knew what he was up against the instantthat his left fist slid along an ebony forearm and his nose collidedwith what seemed like an iron club. Steamship pilot this man might notbe, but fighting man he very surely was. He hit straight and guardedhigh. He was no untutored savage. He had the hardest to acquire of allthe Christian arts at his fingers' (or rather his fists') ends, andthe heavyweight champion of Gosport took a double reef in his fightingtactics while he sparred for time in which to recover from the shockof that first blow. The claret was streaming down his face and he wasdizzy. 

"Oh, wade into him, mate!" urged Joe. 

It is always easier to see what should be done than to do it. The sandwas not slipping and giving under Joe Byng's feet, nor were his fistsand wrists aching from contact with hard ebony. To him the thing seemedeasy, and he was as anxious to get into the fight himself as was theterrier that strained at his chain. But Crothers, who had won a hundredfights at least in cleaner climes, fought canny and tried to make theblack man tire himself with wasted effort. 

And the Arabs sat in silence, like a row of vultures waiting for theend. Even the little children held their clamor and subsided intomotionless calm. There was not a movement along the roofs or the wall, or in the rings of those who squatted. Arabia was spellbound, watchingsomething she had never seen before and trying to puzzle out thewherefore of it. There were knives and guns available, yet these menfought without weapons. The white contender had a friend, but the frienddid not join in. Why? Had Allah struck all three men mad? They satstill to see the end, having no doubt but that it would prove to be ajudgment. 

Curley Crothers was the first to close a round. He put an end to roundone at the end of three minutes by missing with a heavy right swing, ducking to avoid terrific punishment, slipping in the yielding sand andfalling. 

"Back with you!" yelled Joe Byng, afraid that the pilot would takeliberties and ready to jump in and stop him if need be. But he wastedhis excitement. 

"Ah told you Ah'm English!" said the pilot, stepping back and lettingCrothers find his corner. 

Curley was glad enough of a rest on Joe Byng's knee, and too intent ongetting back his wind to listen over carefully to Joe's advice. When Joecalled "Time" he stepped in readily again; and this time it was HassanAh who suffered from surprise. 

Curley had been getting out of practise on board ship; he had neededwaking up, and round one had done it for him. Round two and the six thatfollowed it were exhibitions of the "noble art" that men in any of thelarger cities of the world would have paid out a fortune to have seen. 

There was racial prejudice, and service pride, as well as the usualdecent man's desire to win to make a real mill of what might have beennothing out of ordinary; and there were the quite considerable oddsagainst him that--after the first repulse--usually make men likeCrothers do their utmost. 

Even the Arabs lost their stoicism while round two was under way. Byng yelled, and the terrier yelped, but the Arabs only shifted theirposition. That, though, was proof enough of their excitement; theyactually sighed in unison when Hassan Ah thrust his ungainly chin in theway of a crushing right-hand smash, and laid his broad back on the sand. 

After that it was slug-and-come-again with both of them, each gettingwilder as round succeeded round, but neither man obtaining muchadvantage. Twice it was Crothers who went down; then he discovered asoft spot in Hassan's ribs, and after that he kept the black man busy onthe desperate defensive. 

There was no doubt of the end, then, barring accidents. Even Hassan Ahcould not have doubted it; but he did his black man's uttermost to putit off, and he fought as gamely as anybody ever fought since prize-ringrules were drafted. He did not foul, or take undue advantage once. 

It was a plain, right-handed, battering-ram punch to the neck that endedthings, and Hassan Ah lay coughing on the sand with bulging eyes whileJoe Byng tended Curley's hurts. 

"Hasn't the nigger got any pals?" asked Crothers; and then it occurredto Byng that the most hurt man was surely most in need of mending. Bothhe and Crothers bent over him, then, and they soon had him on his feetagain. 

"Ah told you Ah'm English!" were the first words he succeeded inspluttering through swollen lips. 

"Now, what d'you mean by that exactly?" asked Joe Byng, his attitudetoward him almost entirely changed. A man who loses gamely is entitledto respect if not to friendship. 

Hassan Ah searched in the tattered shirt that he had laid aside, andpulled out a folded piece of paper after a lot of fumbling. He opened itgingerly, and holding one corner of it displayed the rest with evidentintention not to allow it out of his grasp. 

"That says Ah'm English!" he explained. 

"Oh!" said Crothers, rubbing an injured eye in order to see it better. "Can you read, you black heathen?"

"No, " said the pilot. "That says Ah'm English, but Ah can't read!"

"Well, MacHassan, " said Curley Crothers, reading the document a secondtime. "Black or white, you fight like a gentleman. I'm proud to havelicked you. Good-by, and good luck! Here's my hand!"

They shook hands, and the seamen started shoreward with the terrier intow. 

"Did you read the paper?" asked Crothers. "It was dated Aden--non-coms'mess of some regiment or other. 'This is to certify that this regimenttaught Hassan Ah to use his fists, and that he has since licked everysingle mother's son of us!' Pity I didn't see that first, eh?"

"Oh, I dunno, " said Joe Byng, who had not had to do the fighting. "Youlicked the savage, anyway. "

Hassan Ah was right. There was no more shore leave granted. Crothers andJoe Byng were punished with extra duty and "confined to ship" for comingback with the marks of fighting on them; and the Puncher gave no furthersigns of life until, some three I days later, her long-suffering enginesturned again and she departed through the channel that had brought herin. 

Then the sheik and three others and a certain Hassan Ah went downat midnight to the jail and lifted with the aid of long polespassed through the rings in them the largest floor stones of thatvermin-infested building. But the vermin did not trouble them. What theywere after and what they lifted out was the cases of guns and cartridgesthe Puncher had contrived to miss. 

THE END