“At present, Jaimihr is the danger, Miss-sahib; but I think that at present he will dare do nothing.  The Maharajah dare do nothing either, yet.  Should either of them make a move to interfere with you, it would not be safe to appeal to the other one.  You will not understand, but it is so.  In that event, there is a way to safety of which I would warn you.”

“Thank you, Mahommed Gunga.  What is it?”

“There are men more than a day’s ride away from here who are to be depended on—­by you, at least—­under all circumstances.  Is that old woman to be trusted?”

“How should I know?” she smiled.  “I believe she is fond of me.”

“That should be enough.  I would like, if the Miss-sahib will permit, to speak with her.”

At a word from Miss McClean the old hag came out into the sun again and blinked at the Rajput, very much afraid of him.  Mahommed Gunga saluted Miss McClean—­swore at the old woman—­pointed a wordless order with his right arm—­watched her shuffle half a hundred yards up-street—­ followed her, and growled at her for about five minutes, while she nodded.  Finally, he drew from the pocket of his crimson coat a small handful of gold mohurs—­fat, dignified coins that glittered—­and held them out toward her with an air as though they meant nothing to him—­positively nothing—­Her eyes gleamed.  He let her take a good look at the money before replacing it, then tossed her a silver quarter-rupee piece, saluted Miss McClean again—­for she was watching the pantomime from the doorway still—­and mounted and rode off, his back looking like the back of one who has neither care nor fear nor master.

At the caravansary his squire came running out to hold his stirrup.

“Picket the horse in the yard,” said Mahommed Gunga, “then find me another servant and bring him to me in the room here!”

“Another servant?  But, sahib—­”

“I said another servant!  Has deafness overcome thee?” He used a word in the dialect which left no room for doubt as to his meaning; it was to be a different servant—­a substitute for the squire he had already.  The squire bowed his head in disciplined obedience and led the horse away.

An hour later—­evening was drawing on—­he came back, followed by a somewhat ruffianly-looking half-breed Rajput-Punjaubi.  The new man was rather ragged and lacked one eye, but with the single eye he had he looked straight at his prospective master.  Mahommed Gunga glared at him, but the man did not quail or shrink.

“This fellow wishes honorable service, sahib.”  The squire spoke as though he were calling his master’s attention to a horse that was for sale.  “I have seen his family; I have inquired about him; and I have explained to him that unless he serves at thee faithfully his wife and his man child will die at my hands in his absence.”

“Can he groom a horse?”

“So he says, sahib, and so say others.”