More than any other thing, Mahommed Gunga’s cheerfulness amazed him.  He resented it.  He did not see why the man who had expressed such interest in the good fortune of his father’s son should not be sympathetic now that his soldier career had been nipped so early in the bud.  He began to lose faith in Mahommed Gunga’s wisdom, and was glad when the ex-Risaldar chose to bring up the rear of the procession instead of riding by his side.

But behind, in Peshawur, there was one man at least who knew Mahommed Gunga and his worth, and who refused to let himself be blinded by any sort of circumstantial evidence.  The evidence was black—­in black on white—­written by a black-hearted schemer, and delivered by a big, fat black man, who was utterly road-weary, to the commissioner in person.

The sepoy mutiny that had been planned so carefully had started to take charge too soon.  News had arrived of native regiments whose officers had been obliged against their will to disarm and disband them, and the loyalty of other regiments was seriously called in question.

But the men whose blindness was responsible for the possibility of mutiny were only made blinder by the evidence of coming trouble.  With a dozen courses open to them, any one of which might have saved the situation, they deliberately chose a thirteenth—­two-forked toboggan-slide into destruction.  To prove their misjudged confidence in the native army, they actually disbanded the irregulars led by Byng the Brigadier—­removed the European soldiers wherever possible from ammunition-magazine guard-duty, replacing them with native companies—­ and reprimanded the men whose clear sight showed them how events were shaping.

They reprimanded Byng, as though depriving him of his command were not enough.  When he protested, as he had a right to do, they showed him Jaimihr’s letter.

“Mahommed Gunga told you, did he?  Look at this!”

The letter, most concisely and pointedly written, considering the indirect phraseology and caution of the East, deliberately accused Mahommed Gunga and a certain Alwa, together with all the Rangars of a whole province, of scheming with Maharajah Howrah to overthrow the British rule.  It recommended the immediate arrest of Mahommed Gunga and stern measures against the Rangars.

“What do you propose to do about it?” inquired Byng.

“It’s out of our province.  A copy of this letter has been sent to the proper quarter, and no doubt the story will be investigated.  There have been all kinds of stories about suttee being practised in Howrah, and it very likely won’t be difficult to find a plausible excuse for deposing the Maharajah and putting Jaimihr in his place.  In the meantime, if Mahommed Gunga shows himself in these parts he’ll be arrested.”

Byng did then the sort of thing that was fortunately characteristic of the men who rose in the nick of time to seize the reins.  He hurried to his quarters, packed in its case the sword of honor that had once been given him by his Queen, and despatched it without a written line of comment to Mahommed Gunga.  The native who took it was ordered to ride like the devil, overtake Mahommed Gunga on the road to Abu, present the sword without explanation, and return.