George had sent his men to Khautmi before he entered the telegraph hut, and he followed himself in twenty minutes.  Somewhere upon the hill-road he met St. John with a dozen men, who abused him roundly and besought details.

“Are you sure?” he cried.  “For God’s sake, say you’re mistaken.  For, if you’re not, upon my soul it’s the last hour for all of us.”

George was in little mood for jest.  He told Lewis’s tale in a few words.

“A pass beyond Nazri,” the man cried.  “Why, I was there shooting buck last week.  Up the nullah and over the ridge, and then a cleft at the top of the next valley?  Does he say there’s a pass there?  Maybe, but I’ll be hanged if an army could get through.  If we get there we can hold it.”

“We haven’t time.  They may be here at any moment.  Send men to Forza and get them to light the fires.  Oh, for God’s sake, be quick!  I’ve left Haystoun down there.  The obstinate beggar was too tired to move.”

Over all the twenty odd miles between Forza and Khautmi there is a chain of fires which can be used for signals in the Border wars.  On this night Khautmi was to take the west side of the Nazri gully and Forza the east, and the two quickest runners in the place were sent off to Andover with the news.  He was to come towards them, leaving men at the different signal-posts in case of scattered assaults, and if he came in time the two forces would join in holding the Nazri pass.  But should the invader come before, then it fell on the Khautmi men to stand alone.  It was a smooth green hollow in the stony hills, some hundred yards wide, and at the most they might hope to make a fight of thirty minutes.  St. John and George, with their men, ran down the stony road till the sweat dripped from their brows, though the night was chilly.  Mitchinson was to follow with the rest and light the fires; meantime, they must get to Nazri, in case the march should forestall them.  St. John was cursing his ill-luck.  Two hours earlier and they might have held the distant cleft in the hills, and, if they were doomed to perish, have perished to some purpose.  But the holding of the easy Nazri pass was sheer idle mania, and yet it was the only chance of gaining some paltry minutes.  As for George, he had forgotten his vexatious.  His one anxiety was for Lewis; that he should be in time to have his friend at his side.  And when at last they came down on the pass and saw the camp-fire blazing fiercely and no trace of the enemy, he experienced a sense of vast relief.  Lewis was making himself comfortable, cool beggar that he was, and now was probably sleeping.  He should be left alone; so he persuaded St. John that the best point to take their stand on was on a shoulder of hill beyond the fire.  It gave him honest pleasure to think that at last he had stolen a march on his friend.  He should at least have his sleep in peace before the inevitable end.

He looked at his watch; it was almost half-past eleven.