“I have yet to see a Hindoo priest rule me or plunder me!” said Alwa with a grin.

“You will live to see it!” said Mahommed Gunga.  “Truly, you will live to see it, unless you throw your weight into the other scale!  What are we Rajputs without a leader whom we all trust?  What have we ever been?” He swung on his heels suddenly—­angrily—­and began to pace the floor again—­then stopped.

“Divided, and again subdivided—­one-fifth Mohammedan and four-fifths Hindoo—­clan within clan, and each against the other.  Do we own Rajputana?  Nay!  Do we rule it?  Nay!  What were we until Cunnigan-bahadur came?”

“Ah!” All five men rose with a clank in honor to the memory of that man.  “Cunnigan-bahadur!  Show us such another man as he was, and I and mine ride at his back!” said Alwa.  “Not all the English are like Cunnigan!  A Cunnigan could have five thousand men the minute that he asked for them!”

“Am I a wizard?—­Can I cast spells and bring dead men’s spirits from the dead again?  I know of no man to take his place,” said Mahommed Gunga sadly.

He was the poorest of them, but they were all, comparatively speaking, poor men; for the long peace had told its tale on a race of men who are first gentlemen, then soldiers, and last—­least of all—­and only as a last resource, landed proprietors.  The British, for whom they had often fought because that way honor seemed to lie, had impoverished them afterward by passing and enforcing zemindary laws that lifted nine-tenths of the burden from the necks of starving tenants.  The new law was just, as the Rajputs grudgingly admitted, but it pinched their pockets sadly; like the old-time English squires, they would give their best blood and their last rack-rent-wrung rupee for the cause that they believed in, but they resented interference with the rack-rents!  Mahommed Gunga had had influence enough with these five landlord relations of his to persuade them to come and meet him in Howrah City to discuss matters; the mere fact that he had thought it worth his while to leave his own little holding in the north had satisfied them that he would be well worth listening to—­for no man rode six hundred miles on an empty errand.  But they needed something more than words before they pledged the word that no Rajput gentleman will ever break.

“Find us a Cunnigan—­bring him to us—­prove him to us—­and if a blade worth having from end to end of Rajputana is not at his service, I myself will gut the Hindoo owner of it!  That is my given word!” said Alwa.

“He had a son,” said Mahommed Gunga quietly.

“True.  Are all sons like their fathers?  Take Maharajah Howrah here; his father was a man with whom any soldier might be proud to pick a quarrel.  The present man is afraid of his own shadow on the wall—­ divided between love for the treasure-chests he dare not broach and fear of a brother whom he dare not kill.  He is priest-ridden, priest-taught, and fit to be nothing but a priest.  Who knows how young Cunnigan will shape?  Where is he?  Overseas yet!  He must prove himself, as his father did, before he can hope to lead a free regiment of horse!”