“Now, hands to your sides!  Attention!  March!” the Rajput ordered, and with his own bayonet at his back the sentry had to march, whether he wanted to or not, by the route that the other chose, toward the guardroom.  The Rajput seemed to know by instinct where the second sentry stood although the man’s shape was quite invisible against the night.  He called out, “Friend!” again as he passed him, and the sentry hearing the first sentry’s footsteps, imagined that the real situation was reversed.

So, out of a pall of blackness, to the accompanying sound of rifles being brought up to the shoulder, a British sentry—­feeling and looking precisely like a fool—­marched up to his own guardroom, with a man who should have been his prisoner in charge of him.

“Halt!” commanded Brown.  “Who or what have you got there, Stanley?”

“Stanley is my prisoner at present!” said a voice that Brown vaguely recognized.

He stepped up closer, to make sure.

“What, you?  Juggut Khan!”

“Aye, Brown sahib!  Juggut Khan—­with tidings, and a dead gray horse on which to bear them!  If this fool could only use his bayonet as he can shoot, I think I would be dead too.  His brains, though, are all behind his right eye.  Tie him up, where no little child can come and make him prisoner!”

“Arrest that man!” commanded Brown, and two men detached themselves from the end of the guard, and stood him between them, behind the line.

“Here’s his rifle!” smiled Juggut Khan, and Brown received it with an ill grace.

“How did you get past the other sentry?” he asked.

“Oh, easily!  You English are only brave; you have no brains.  Sometimes one part of the rule is broken, but the other never.  You are not always brave!”

“I suppose you’re angry because he killed your horse?”

“I am angry, Brown sahib, for greater happenings than that!  The man conceivably was right, since I did not halt for him, and I suppose he had his orders.  I am angry because the standard of rebellion is raised, and because of what it means to me!”

“Are you drunk, Juggut Khan?”

“Your honor is pleased to be humorous?  No, I am not drunk.  Nor have I eaten opium.  I have eaten of the bread of bitterness this day, and drunk of the cup of gall.  I have seen British officers—­good, brave fools, some of whom I knew and loved—­killed by the men they were supposed to lead.  I have seen a barracks burning, and a city given over to be looted.  I have seen white women—­nay, sahib, steady!—­ I have seen them run before a howling mob, and I have seen certain of them shot by their own husbands!”

“Quietly!” ordered Brown.  “Don’t let the men hear!”

“One of them I slew myself, because her husband, who was wounded, sent me to her and bade me kill her.  She died bravely.  And certain others I have hidden where the mutineers are not likely to discover them at present.  I ride now for succor—­or, I rode, rather, until your expert marksman interfered with me!  I now need another horse.”