Cunningham, in spite of himself, had travelled swiftly.  The moon lacked two nights of being full and two more days would have seen him climbing up the fourteen-mile rock road that leads up the purple flanks of Abu, when the ex-trooper of Irregulars cantered from a dust cloud, caught up Mahommed Gunga, who was riding, as usual, in the rear, and handed him the sword.  He held it out with both hands.  Mahommed Gunga seized it by the middle, and neither said a word for the moment.

In silence Mahommed Gunga drew the blade—­saw Byng’s name engraved close to the hilt—­recognized the sword, and knew the sender—­ thought—­and mistook the meaning.

“Was there no word?”

“None.”

“Then take this word back.  ’I will return the sword, with honor added to it, when the peace of India is won.’  Say that, and nothing else.”

“I would rest my horse for a day or two,” said the trooper.

“Neither thou nor yet thy horse will have much rest this side of Eblis!” said Mahommed Gunga.  “Ride!”

The trooper wheeled and went with a grin and a salute which he repeated twice, leaning back from the saddle for a last look at the man of his own race whom Byng had chosen to exalt.  He felt himself honored merely to have carried the sword.  Mahommed Gunga removed his own great sabre and handed it to one of his own five whom he overtook; then he buckled on the sword of honor and spurred until he rode abreast of Cunningham, a hundred yards or more ahead of the procession.

“Sahib,” he asked, “did Byng-bahadur say a word or two about listening to me?”

“He did.  Why?”

“Because I will now say things!”

The fact that the Brigadier had sent no message other than the sword was probably the Rajput’s chief reason for talking in riddles still to Cunningham.  The silence went straight to his Oriental heart—­so to speak, set the key for him to play to.  But he knew, too, that Cunningham’s youth would be a handicap should it come to argument; what he was looking for was not a counsellor or some one to make plans, for the plans had all been laid and cross-laid by the enemy, and Mahommed Gunga knew it.  He needed a man of decision—­to be flung blindfold into unexpected and unexpecting hell wrath, who would lead, take charge, decide on the instant, and lead the way out again, with men behind him who would recognize decision when they saw it.  So he spoke darkly.  He understood that the sword meant “Things have started,” so with a soldier’s courage he proceeded to head Cunningham toward the spot where hell was loose.

“Say ahead!” smiled Cunningham.

“Yonder, sahib, lies Abu.  Yonder to the right lies thy road now, not forward.”

“I have orders to report at Abu.”

“And I, sahib, orders to advise!”

“Are you advising me to disobey orders?”

The Rajput hesitated.  “Sahib, have I anything to gain,” he asked, “by offering the wrong advice?”