or Peshawur!  Now we are free of the plains of Rajputana—­within a ride of fifty of my blood-relations, and they each within reach of others!  Ho!  I can hear the thunder of a squadron at my back again!  I am young, sahib—­ young!  My old joints loosen!  Allah send the cloud has burst at last —­I bring to two thousand Rangars a new Cunnigan-bahadur!  Thy father’s son shall learn what Cunnigan-bahadur taught!”

He lapsed into silence, watching the advancing horsemen, who swooped down on them in an ever-closing fan formation.  His tired horse sensed the thrill that tingled through its rider’s veins, and pranced again, curving his neck and straining at the bit until Mahommed Gunga steadied him.  The five behind—­even the mule-drivers too—­detected excitement in the air, and the little column closed in on its leaders.  All eyes watched the neck-and-neck approach of Alwa’s men, until Cunningham at last could see their turbans and make out that they were Rangars, not Hindoos.  Then he and the Risaldar drew rein.

There were twenty who raced toward them, but no Alwa.

“It is as I thought!” declared Mahommed Gunga.  “It is war, sahib!  He has summoned men from his estates.  As a rule, he can afford but ten men for that fort of his, and he would not send all his men to meet us —­he has a garrison up yonder!”

Like blown dust-devils the twenty raced to them, and drew up thundering within a lance-length.  A sword-armed Rangar with a little gold lace on his sleeve laughed loud as he saluted, greeting Mahommed Gunga first.  The Risaldar accepted his salute with iron dignity.

“Forgive him, sahib!” he whispered to Cunningham.  “The jungli knows no better!  He will learn whom to salute first when Alwa has said his say!”

But Cunningham was in no mood just then to stand on military ceremony or right of precedence.  He was too excited, too inquisitive, too occupied with the necessity for keeping calm in the face of what most surely looked like the beginning of big happenings.  These horsemen of Alwa’s rode, and looked, and laughed like soldiers, new-stripped of the hobble ropes of peace, and their very seat in the untanned saddles—­ tight down, loose-swaying from the hips, and free—­was confirmation of Mahommed Gunga’s words.

They wheeled in a cloud and led the way, opening a little in the centre to let the clouds of sand their horses kicked up blow to the right and left of Cunningham and his men.  Not a word was spoken—­not a question asked or a piece of news exchanged—­until the whole party halted at the foot of Alwa’s fortress home—­a great iron gate in front of them and garden land on either side—­watered by the splashing streamlet from the heights above.

“Men of the house of Kachwaha have owned and held this place, sahib, since Allah made it!” whispered Mahommed Gunga.  “Men say that Alwa has no right to it; they lie!  His father’s father won the dower-right!”