Then, in a second, it was evident why Raputs do not rule in Rajputana.

“I ride too with my men!” declared Mahommed Gunga.

“Nay!  This is my affair—­my private quarrel with Jaimihr!”

Mahommed Gunga turned to Ali Partab, who had been a shadow to him ever since he came.

“Turn out my five, and bring my charger!” he commanded.

“No, I say!” Alwa had his hand already on his sabre hilt.  “There is room for eight and no more.  Four following four abreast, and one ahead to lead them.  I and my men know how to do this.  I and my men have a personal dispute with Jaimihr.  Stay thou here!”

Mahommed Gunga’s five and Ali Partab came clattering out so fast as to lead to the suspicion that their horses had been already saddled.  Mahommed Gunga mounted.

“Lead on, cousin!” he exclaimed.  “I will follow thy lead, but I come!”

Then Alwa did what a native nearly always will do.  He turned to a man not of his own race, whom he believed he could trust to be impartial.

“Sahib—­have I no rights in my own house?”

“Certainly you have,” said Cunningham, who was wondering more than anything what weird, wild trick these horsemen meant to play.  No man in his senses would have dared to ride a horse at more than foot-pace down the path.  Was there another path? he wondered.  At least, if eight men were about to charge into eight hundred, it would be best to keep his good friend Mahommed Gunga out of it, he decided.

“Risaldar!” The veteran was always most amenable to reason when addressed by his military title.  “Who of us two is senior—­thou or I?”

“By Allah, not I, sahib!  I am thy servant!”

“I accept your service, and I order you to stay with your men up here with me!”

Mahommed Gunga saluted and dismounted, and his six followed suit, looking as disappointed as children just deprived of a vacation.  Alwa wheeled his horse in front of Cunningham and saluted too.

“For that service, sahib, I am thy friend!” he muttered.  “That was right and reasonable, and a judgement quickly given!  Thy friend, bahadur!” He spoke low on purpose, but Mahommed Gunga heard him, caught Cunningham’s eye, and grinned.  He saw a way to save his face, at all events.

“That was a trick well turned, sahib!” he whispered, as Alwa moved away.  “Alwa will listen in future when Cunnigan-bahadur speaks!”

“Go down and tell Jaimihr that I come in person!” ordered Alwa, and the man dropped down the cliff side for the third time; they could hear his voice, high-pitched, resounding off the rock, and they caught a faint murmur of the answer.  Below, Jaimihr could be seen waiting patiently, checking his restive war-horse with a long-cheeked bit, and waiting, ready to ride under the gate the moment it was opened.  Rosemary McClean came over; she and Cunningham and the missionary leaned together over the battlement and watched.