“But how am I to get out of here?” asked Ramabai.  “Guards all about, and doubtless bidden to shoot if I stir!”

“Tch!  Tch!” clicked Ahmed.  He unwound his dirty turban and slipped out of the ragged shirtlike frock.  “These and the water skin below.  A bheestee entered, a bheestee goes out.  What is simpler than that?  It is not light enough for the soldiers to notice.  There is food and water here.  Trust me to elude those bhang-guzzlers outside.  Am I a ryot, a farmer, to twist naught but bullocks’ tails?”

“Ahmed,” said Bruce, holding out his hand, “you’re a man.”

“Thanks, Sahib,” dryly.  “But hasten!  At dawn to-morrow, or late to-night, Ramabai returns with a full water skin.  The Mem-sahib must at least stand the ordeal of terror, for she is guarded too well.  Yet, if they were not going to bind her, I should not worry.  She has animal magic in her eye, in her voice.  I have seen wild beasts grow still when she spoke.  Who knows?  Now, I sleep.”

Bruce and Ramabai had no difficulty in passing the guards.  The white hunter was free to come and go, and the sleepy soldiers saw the water skin which Ramabai threw carelessly over his head.  They sat down against the wall again and replenished the dung fire.  Bruce and Ramabai wisely made a wide detour to the peepul tree, which they climbed, disturbing the apes and the parrakeets.

Somewhere near eight o’clock they heard the creaking of wheels and a murmur of voices.  Shortly into their range of vision drew a pair of bullocks, pulling a tiger trap toward the clearing.  This cage was of stout wood with iron bars.  The rear of the cage was solid; the front had a falling door.  The whole structure rested upon low wheels, and there was a drop platform which rested upon the ground.  An iron ring was attached to the rear wall, and to this was generally tied a kid, the bleating of which lured the tiger for which the trap was laid.  The moment the brute touched the bait the falling door slid down, imprisoning the prowler.

When Bruce saw this damnable thing he understood, and he shook with horror and voiceless rage.  He caught Ramabai by the arm so savagely that a low cry came from the brown man’s lips.

“Patience, Sahib!” he warned.  “Without you what will the Mem-sahib do?  They will tie her in that and liberate a tiger.  The rest lies with you, Sahib.”

“Ramabai, as God hears me, some one shall pay for this! . . .  The nineteenth century, and I am wide awake!  I may not be able to kill the brute with these revolvers, but I’ll stop him, even if I have to use my bare hands. . . .  Kathlyn Hare!”

“Hush!” again warned Ramabai, hugging his perch.

Later by half an hour Bruce witnessed a spectacle such as few white men, happily for their reason, are permitted to see.  Kathlyn, in her royal robes (for ordeals of this character were ceremonials), a necklace of wonderful emeralds about her throat, stepped from her palanquin and stood waiting.  From other vehicles and conveyances stepped Umballa, the council and the yellow robed priests.  Troops also appeared, and behind them the eager expectant populace.  They were to be amused.  There were many of them, however, who hoped that a miracle would happen.