“Good!  Oh, and—­Maharajah-sahib—­since we’ve fought your battle for you—­and lost a few men—­and are going to guard your treasure for you, and be your friends, and all that kind of thing—­don’t you think you’d like to do something for us—­not much, but just a little thing?”

“I am in your power.  You have but to command.”

“Oh, no.  I don’t want to force anything.  We’re friends—­talking as friends.  I ask a favor.”

“It is granted, sahib.”

“A horse or two, that’s all.”

“How many horses, sahib?”

“Oh, not more than one each.”

The Maharajah pulled a wry face, but bowed assent.  It would empty his stables very nearly, but he knew when he could not help himself.  Mahommed Gunga clapped a hand to his mouth and left the vault hurriedly.

“You understand this is not a demand, Maharajah-sahib.  I take it that you offer me these horses as an act of royal courtesy and as additional proof of friendliness?”

“Surely, sahib.”

“My men will be very grateful to you.  This will enable them to reach the scene of action with their own horses in good shape.  I’m sure it’s awfully good of you to have offered them!”

Outside, where the late afternoon sun was gradually letting things cool down, Mahommed Gunga leaned against the wall and roared with laughter, as he explained a few details to the admiring troopers.

“A horse or two, says he!  How many?  Oh, just a horse or two, Maharajah-sahib—­merely a horse apiece!  Fifteen hundred horses!  A horse or two!  Oh-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ho!  Allah!  But that boy will make a better soldier than his father!  As a favor, he asked them—­no compulsion, mind you—­just as a favor!  Allah!  What is he asking now, I wonder!  Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ho-ho-ho!”

And inside, with a perfectly straight face and almost ghastly generosity, young Cunningham proceeded to impose on Howrah the transferred, unwelcome, perilous allegiance of Jaimihr’s reassembling army.  The mere keeping of it in subjection, it was realized by donor and recipient alike, would keep the Maharajah’s hands full.

“Are you satisfied that your homes will be safe, now?” he asked Alwa.  And Alwa looked him in the eyes and grinned.

CHAPTER XXXIV

Now, fifteen hundred, horse and man,
Reel at the word of one! 
Loosed by the brazen trumpet’s peal—­
Knee to knee and toe on heel—­
Troop on troop the squadrons wheel

                Outbrazening the sun!

Within a fortnight of the outbreak of the mutiny, men spoke with bated breath about the Act of God.  It burst at the moment when India’s reins were in the hands of some of the worst incompetents in history.  A week found strong men in control of things—­the right men, with the right handful behind them.