“Risaldar Mahommed Khan?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of the Rajput Horse?”

“Yes, sir.  My father’s Risaldar.”

“You left your wife in his charge, didn’t you?”

“Yes, sir, but I’m thinking that—­that perhaps the Risaldar—­I mean—­ there seem to be Mohammedans at the bottom of this business, as well as Hindus.  Perhaps—­”

“Bellairs!  Now hear me once and for all.  You thank your God that the Risaldar turned up to guard her!  Thank God that your father was man enough for Mahommed Khan to love and that you are your father’s son!  And listen!  Don’t let me hear you, ever, under any circumstances, breathe a word of doubt as to that man’s loyalty!  D’you understand me, sir?  You, a mere subaltern, a puppy just out of his ’teens, an insignificant jackanapes with two twelve-pounders in your charge, daring to impute disloyalty to Mahommed Khan!—­your impudence!  Remember this!  That old Risaldar is the man who rode with your father through the guns at Dera!  He’s a pauper without a pension, for all his loyalty, but he went down the length of India to meet you, at his own expense, when you landed raw-green from England!  And what d’you know of war, I’d like to know, that you didn’t learn from him?  Thank your God, sir, that there’s some one there who’ll kill your wife before she falls into the Hindus’ hands!”

“But he was going to ride away, sir, to bring an escort!”

“Not before he’d made absolutely certain of her safety!” swore the colonel with conviction.  “Join your section, sir!”

So Harry Bellairs joined his section and trudged along sore-footed at its side—­sore-hearted, too.  He wondered whether any one would ever say as much for him as Colonel Carter had chosen to say for Mahommed Khan, or whether any one would have the right to say it!  He was ashamed of having left his wife behind and tortured with anxiety—­ and smarting from the snub—­a medley of sensations that were more likely to make a man of him, if he had known it, than the whole experience of a year’s campaign!  But in the dust and darkness, with the blisters on his heels, and fifty men, who had overheard the colonel, looking sidewise at him, his plight was pitiable.

They trudged until the dawn began to rise, bright yellow below the drooping banian trees; only Colonel Carter and the advance-guard riding.  Then, when they stopped at a stream to water horses and let them graze a bit and give the men a sorely needed rest, one of the ring of outposts loosed off his rifle and shouted an alarm.  They had formed square in an instant, with the guns on one side and the men on three, and the colonel and the wounded in the middle.  A thousand or more of the mutineers leaned on their rifles on the shoulder of a hill and looked them over, a thousand yards away.

“Send them an invitation!” commanded Colonel Carter, and the left-hand gun barked out an overture, killing one sepoy.  The rest made off in the direction of Hanadra.