He drove his right spur in, wheeled the horse and started across country in the direction of Bholat at a hand-gallop, guiding himself solely by the soldier’s sixth sense of direction, and leaving the problem of possible pitfalls to the horse.

“If what he says is true,” said Brown, as the clattering hoof-beats died away, “and I’m game to take my oath he wouldn’t lie to me, I’d give more than a little to have him with me for the next few hours!”

The men came clustering round him now, anxious for an explanation.  They had held their tongues while Juggut Khan was there, because they happened to know Brown too well to do otherwise.  He would have snubbed any man who dared to question him before the Indian.  But, now that the Indian was gone, curiosity could stay no longer within bounds.

“What is it, Sergeant?  Anything been happening?  What’s the news?  What’s that I heard him say about rebellion?  They’re a rum lot, them Rajputs.  D’you think he’s square?  Tell us, Sergeant!”

“Listen, then.  Rebellion has broken out.  The native barracks at Jailpore have been burned, and all the English officers are killed—­ or so says Juggut Khan.  He’s riding on, to carry the news to General Baines.  He says that the mutineers are planning to come along this way some time within the next few hours!”

“What are we going to do, then?”

“That’s my business!  I’m in command here!”

“Yes, but, Sergeant—­aren’t you going back to Bholat?  Aren’t you going to follow him?  Are you going to stay here and get cut up?  We’ll get caught here like rats in a trap!”

“Are you giving orders here?” asked Brown acidly.  “Fall in!  Come on, now!  Hurry!  ’Tshun—­eyes right—­ri’—­dress.  Eyes—­front.  Ri’—­ turn.  By the left—­quick—­march!  Silence, now!  Left!  Left!  Left!”

He marched them back toward the crossroads without giving them any further opportunity to remonstrate or ask for information.

It was not until he reached the crossroads, without being challenged, that he showed any sign of being in any way disturbed.

“Sentry!” he shouted.  “Sentry!”

But there was no answer.

“Halt!” he ordered, and he himself went forward to investigate.  The blackness swallowed him, but the men could hear him move, and they heard him fall.  They heard him muttering, too, within ten paces of them.  Then they heard his order.

“Bring a light here, some one.”

One man produced a piece of candle, struck a match and lit it.  A moment later they had all broken order, and were standing huddled up together like a frightened flock of sheep, peering through dancing, candle-lit shadows at something horrible that Brown was handling.

“What is it, Sergeant?”

“What in hell’s happened?”

“Who was that swearing?” inquired Brown, with a sudden look up across his shoulder.  “You, Taylor?  You again?  Swearing in the presence of death?  Talking of hell, with your two comrades lying dead at the crossroads, and you like to follow both o’ them at any minute?”