“Get up!” he growled.  “Thy service is dishonor and my ears are deaf to it!  Now, speak!  Hast thou a message?  Who is it sends a rat to bring me news?”

“Ali Partab.”

“Soho!  And who is Ali Partab?  He needs to learn manners.  He has come to a stern school for them!”

“Sahib—­great one—­Prince of swordsmen!—­Ali Partab is Mahommed Gunga-sahib’s man.  He bid me say that he is held a prisoner in a bear-cage in Jaimihr’s palace and needs aid.”

Alwa’s black beard dropped onto his chest as he frowned in thought.  He had nine men with him.  Jaimihr had by this time, perhaps, as many as nine thousand, for no one knew but Jaimihr and the priests how many in the district waited to espouse his cause.  The odds seemed about as stupendous as any that a man of his word had ever been called upon to take.

A moment more, and without consulting any one, he bade one of his men dismount.

“Put that hag on thy horse!” he commanded.  “Mount thou behind another!”

The order was obeyed.  Another Rangar took the led horse, and Joanna found herself, perched like a monkey on a horse that objected to the change of riders, between two troopers whose iron-thewed legs squeezed hers into the saddle.

“To Howrah City!” ordered Alwa, starting off at an easy, desert-eating amble; and without a word of comment, but with downward glances at their swords and a little back-stiffening which was all of excitement that they deigned to show, his men wheeled three and three behind him.

It was no affair of Alwa’s that a full moon shone that night—­none of his arranging that on that one night of the month Jaimihr and his most trusted body-guard should go with the priests and the Maharajah to inspect the treasure.  Alwa was a soldier, born to take instant advantage of chance—­sent opportunity; Jaimihr was a schemer, born to indecision and the cunning that seeks underhanded means but overlooks the obvious.  Because the streets were full of men whose allegiance was doubtful yet, because he himself would be too occupied to sit like a spider in a web and watch the intentions of the crowd unfold, Jaimihr had turned out every retainer to his name, and had scattered them about the city, with orders, if they were needed, to rally on a certain point.

He did think that at any minute a disturbance might break out which would lead to civil war, and he saw the necessity for watchfulness at every point; but he did not see the rather obvious necessity for leaving more than twenty men on guard inside his palace.  Not even the thoughtfulness of Siva’s priests could have anticipated that ten horse-men would be riding out of nowhere, with the spirit in them that ignores side issues and leads them only straight to their objective.

Alwa, as a soldier, knew exactly where fresh horses could be borrowed while his tired ones rested.  A little way beyond the outskirts of the city lived a man who was neither Mohammedan nor Hindoo—­a fearful man, who took no sides, but paid his taxes, carried on his business, and behaved—­a Jew, who dealt in horses and in any other animal or thing that could be bought to show a profit.