"Give the word, you heathen son of a washer-woman," said a rough English voice, the owner of which had his hands on Ahmed's throat. "Give the word; jaldi karo."

"What have you got there, Tom?" said another voice.

"Blowed if it ain't a Pandy or some other drowned rat by the feel of him. What do you mean, you suar ka bachcha, by treading on the toes of a British rifleman? Hilo mat, you bloomin' reptile, or I'll stick my bay'net in your gala."

"Take me to Hodson Sahib," said Ahmed in halting English, as soon as he got his breath.

"Hodson Sahib be jiggered! We ain't khaki, as you might see with your cat's eyes; we're green, we are. You've come to the wrong shop for those everlasting Guides, if that's what you want. You've got gentlemen of the 60th Royal Rifles to deal with, let me tell you. He ain't got no rifle, mates, so there ain't no harm in him. What are you a-doing of here, and what was that there noise we heard just now?"

"Take me to Hodson Sahib," Ahmed repeated.

"Perhaps he's one of Hodson's spies, Tom," said a third man. "Better send him along to the Colonel."

"We can't send him, not having no conveniences for such. He'll just have to wait until we're relieved."

"But s'pose he's got news of an attack? There'd be a bit of a dust-up if the General didn't get warning in time."

"And there'd be another dust-up if an inspection-officer come along and found me absent from my juty. Rum thing, juty, you nigger; and the sooner you learn it the better. My juty says one thing, your juty,—if so be you are one of Hodson's spies—says another. If two juties pulls in hopposite directions, the thing that wants doing don't get done, and the consekinces is accordin'."

"Y' ought to bin a parson, Tom. Blest if ever I knowed such a chap for argyfying."

"Argyfy! I never do it. I only talk sense. That's what my mother used to say to the old man when they was talkin' over some little bit o' difference between 'em. 'Woman,' says he, 'your argyment's ridik'lous. Women ain't got no power of reasonin'.' 'And a good thing for you, Jimmy,' say she. 'Women ha' got sense.' And then they'd begin over again, and me eatin' bread and butter listenin' to 'em. 'The amount o' rubbidge that there poor boy do have to listen to from one as ought to bring him up proper!' says my father. 'True,' says she, 'and if he didn't take after me 'twould turn his little stomick, poor lamb!' And then he'd argyfy that too much butter warn't good for a boy's innards, and she'd listen and say nothing till the next slice was cut, and blest if he didn't lay it on thicker than her. Argyfyin' ain't in it against sense."

Ahmed was growing impatient under the rifleman's garrulity, though he took a certain pleasure in hearing his mother tongue again. The name "Jimmy" had caught his ear, and he remembered that he had himself been called by that name in those distant years of childhood that seemed like existence in another world. But meanwhile the night was passing; his news was yet untold; and he was meditating a flight from these English soldiers when he heard the tread of men marching, and in a few moments there came up a lieutenant going the rounds with a squad to see that the men of the outposts and pickets were attending to their duty.

"Who's this, sergeant?" said the lieutenant, observing Ahmed. "You know the rules: no visitors allowed?"

"Yes, sir, and he ain't exactly a visitor, that is we didn't invite him and didn't know he was coming; in fact, he came on us all of a heap like, and nearly knocked the breath out o' my body by falling right on top of me, sir. He asked for Hodson Sahib, sir, and I was just explaining that he'd come to the wrong shop."

"Brought khabar, eh?" said the lieutenant. "Take him to Mr. Hodson," he added, turning to one of his men, and Ahmed was forthwith conveyed along the Ridge until he reached his commander's tent. Hodson was in bed, but on hearing that a native had asked for him, he had Ahmed brought into the tent.

"Who are you?" he said, not recognizing his trooper in the bearded man before him.

"I am Ahmed Khan, sahib, and I come from Delhi with news."

"By Jove!" cried Hodson, "your get-up is first-rate." Then he laughed. "You are no doubt the man Fazl Hak wrote about; a simple trader, he said, who was no good at all for our job. Well, what have you got to say?"

He listened attentively as Ahmed told his story.

As his manner was, he questioned and cross-questioned him searchingly; it was no easy matter, as a rule, to sift out the bare truth from the natives' reports; but Ahmed's account was so simple and direct that he was speedily satisfied, and then he got up, and flinging on a long military cloak, went off to tell General Barnard in person what he had learnt.

"You are wet through," he said before he went, noticing Ahmed's bedraggled appearance. "My servant will give you some dry things. Go and get some sleep, and come to me in the morning."

"If there is to be fighting, and the hazur pleases," said Ahmed, "I should like to go with the Guides."

"Very well," said Hodson, giving him a keen look; "but don't put on the uniform. You are going to be useful, I think, and the secret had better be kept a little longer."

It was half-past two in the morning when a little force, consisting of three hundred and fifty men of the 61st Regiment, Hodson with the cavalry of the Guides, and Major Coke with some batteries of horse artillery, left camp to do battle with the mutineers and prevent if possible the attack on Alipur; if not, to intercept the rebels on their return. The force was under the command of Coke, of the Panjab Irregular Cavalry, who had arrived on the Ridge a few days before. He was a gallant officer, with a great reputation for his achievements in border warfare; no better man could have been chosen for the work in hand.

Alipur was eight miles distant on the Karnal Road. While Lieutenant Frederick Roberts with the infantry felt for the enemy along the road, Hodson with the Guides and Coke with the guns marched along the right bank of the Jumna Canal. Fortunately the rain had ceased, but the ground had been turned into a quagmire; the horses trod over their fetlocks in mud, and the progress of the column was slow. It was soon clear that all hope must be abandoned of saving the village and the little Sikh post guarding it. Still, the rebels must return to Delhi, and it was possible to relieve them of any plunder they had gained and to teach them a lesson.

The Guides marched on in the darkness. Ahmed had as yet attracted no attention among the troopers. Hodson's servant had rummaged out an old scarf which rolled up into a quite respectable turban, and a discarded great-coat which was not unlike the chogah he had left on the ground when escaping from the rebels. It was impossible to distinguish his dress in the night, and if anything strange had been noticed about his appearance, the fact that many had had to change their drenched garments might have sufficiently explained it. He took care to keep out of Sherdil's way; Sherdil was the most likely man to see through his disguise, and while his mission in Delhi was yet unfulfilled in its entirety, it was advisable to keep the secret.

Soon after daybreak the patrols came in sight of the enemy returning in triumph from Alipur. They had fallen on the village, slain the Sikhs to a man, burnt the place to the ground, and carried off a quantity of plunder, including an ammunition wagon and several camel-loads of small-arm cartridges.

At the sight of the rebel infantry in their red coats, Major Coke unlimbered the guns and brought them into action. They were only light field-pieces, and did little execution among the enemy, who, instead of standing their ground and making use of their overwhelming numbers, fell into a panic when the guns came within six hundred yards of them, and bolted, flinging away their shoes, belts and other impedimenta, in their mad haste to get away.

Then Hodson gave his eager men the word to charge. They swept down upon the disordered ranks of the rebels, and were soon engaged hand to hand with their cavalry. Shouting their war-cry "Wah-hah!" the Guides cut their way through them, smiting right and left with their swords.

Hodson himself was in the thick of the fray, and escaped hurt as by a miracle. His gallant horse, Feroza, was slashed with sabre cuts; his bridle was severed, and a piece of his glove was shorn off. The men were no whit behind their leader. Ahmed unhorsed one man with his lance, and recovered from the stroke just in time to ward off a desperate thrust from a sabre. The trooper at his side fell from his horse with a mortal wound in his neck; several of the horses were so badly wounded that they had to be killed. But the enemy would not stand, and the Guides' losses were only the one man killed and six wounded.

So desperate was the rebels' flight that they left behind them all their baggage and the spoil of their night's work at Alipur. Hodson would fain have pursued them to the very walls of Delhi, but the horses were so fatigued by their march over the heavy ground that they were incapable of further efforts. Major Coke's guns, moreover, sank so deep into the mud that they could scarcely be moved. The rebels were on higher ground, and the Guides howled with disappointment when they saw them drawing their guns away in safety. They came up with the tail-end of the infantry ere the morning was past, and inflicted heavy loss upon them, so that Bakht Khan, who had led the column in person, had little satisfaction in his night's adventure. All that his five thousand men had accomplished was the destruction of a small village, and the capture of plunder which they were now forced to leave behind them on the field.

The encounter with the enemy having taken place between the road and the canal, the British infantry could not come up in time to take part in it. But they were so much exhausted by the scorching heat of the day, following their march over the swamps, that many of the 61st sank down beneath trees as they returned to camp, and remained there until elephants were sent to bring them in.

As the Guides marched back to camp, Ahmed became the object of much curious speculation on the part of his comrades. Many had noticed the doughty way in which he had conducted himself during the brief encounter, and wondered who this bearded warrior was who fought among them in a garb so strange. He rode on gravely, not turning his head, nor taking part in the talk of the others. They questioned one another in low tones about him.

"Who is this stranger, and when did he come among us?" asked Rasul Khan, of Sherdil, son of Assad, as they rode a little behind him.

"Allah knows," replied Sherdil. "I know him not. I spoke of him to Hodson Sahib, and the sahib glared at me out of his blue eyes—eyes like a hawk's, Rasul—and asked me whether he was not a good fighter and worthy of the Guides. 'Verily he is, sahib,' I said, 'but we know him not.' 'I know him, is not that enough?' says the sahib. Peradventure he is a new recruit, Rasul, or a candidate, and there being no time for the tests the sahib bade him come with us and show what he could do. I care not, so that he does not become a dafadar before me."

"I will even ask his name," returned Rasul, riding his horse beside Ahmed's. "Thou of the black beard, what is thy name?"

"I am of the Guides," said Ahmed simply. "If thou desirest to know more, ask of the sahib."

Whereupon Rasul fell back and told Sherdil that the black-bearded one was either a very surly fellow or one of the sahibs in disguise. "For he spake to me in the tone the sahibs have when they bid us do things and we obey even as children. Of a truth he is a sahib, or at the very least a sowar from one of the English regiments. That is it, he is an English sowar, one of Blunt Sahib's men, perhaps, and his own clothes being wet he put on those of a banijara. If that be not the truth, Sherdil, we shall without doubt learn the truth when we come to camp. He is a good fighter, that is sure."

That evening Hodson sent for Ahmed, who in common with all the members of Coke's wearied force had slept through the day, and kept him for a long time. Ahmed felt afterwards as if he had been turned inside out. He related all that had happened to him since his departure from the Ridge; his fight with the lathi-wallahs, his interview with Fazl Hak (at which Hodson chuckled), his eavesdropping in Minghal Khan's house, the failure of all his attempts hitherto to discover anything about Dr. Craddock. He mentioned casually how he had seen the khansaman disappear through a hole in the wall.

"The rascal!" said Hodson. "Without doubt he has some little hoard of his own by which he sleeps. And you say that he talks foully about the sahibs?"

"True, hazur."

"I hope the villain will get his deserts some day. Craddock Sahib will without doubt be found—if he is yet alive—in some quiet garden or on some roof-top. You will go back into the city. I am pleased with you. You will find out all you can that will help us when the assault comes—the numbers of rebels at the various gates, the haunts of the ringleaders, the secret ways by which they may try to escape. And if you can discover anything of their plans again, as you have done, you must let me know. Have you money?"

"Enough, sahib, and I have still some goods to sell."

"Ah, I had forgotten your goods. I doubt whether you will find them as you left them."

"Then the bhatiyara will suffer many pangs," said Ahmed simply, and Hodson laughed.

It was many days, however, before Ahmed returned to Delhi. His exposure on the night of his escape, followed by the march and fighting, and the fatigues of returning in the heat, had brought on a slight fever. He lay up in the quarters of the camp-followers, trusting to Nature for his cure. And during these days he heard much talk of the incidents of the camp. Cholera had broken out; General Barnard himself died of it after a few hours' illness on the day after the sortie to Alipur. His successor, General Reed, was in ill-health, and officers and men were discussing who would really lead them. Many of the natives complained bitterly of their treatment by the British soldiers. The cook-boys, who carried their food, often had to dodge round shot from the city, and had become expert at it, dropping down on their knees when they saw the shot coming. And when they rose and went on with their pots and tins the men would jeer at them, and curse them for being late with the food. Ahmed, as he heard things like this, wondered whether all the sahibs had such contempt for their poor native servants.

Between nine and ten one morning the bugles sounded the alarm, and Ahmed, having recovered sufficiently to leave his charpoy, went out to see what was happening. He had heard the sounds of firing so often while lying sick that he would hardly have noticed it now but that it seemed so much nearer than ever before.

In the drizzling rain a party of cavalry was seen approaching a battery near the churchyard. One of the gunners had a portfire lighted in readiness for firing his gun, but Lieutenant Hills ordered him to refrain, judging from the horsemen's movements that they were a picket of the 9th Irregular Native Cavalry. All at once, however, it struck him that the picket was unusually large, and being now a little suspicious, he ordered his men to unlimber and open upon the horsemen. Before this could be done some fifteen or twenty of the enemy dashed over the canal bridge into the camp and rode straight for the guns.

Lieutenant Hills—he was a second lieutenant and a little fellow—saw that time must be gained for his men if the guns were to be saved. Without a moment's hesitation he charged the rebels single-handed, cut down the first man he met, and had just flung his pistol at a second when two sowars dashed upon him. Their horses collided with his in a terrific shock; the horse was rolled over, and Hills sent flying to the ground, thus escaping the swords of the enemy, one of which, however, shore a slice off his jacket. Half stunned, he lay still, and the rebel sowars left him for dead.

But Hills was not dead; in a minute or two he rose to his feet and looked about for his sword. There it was, on the ground about ten yards away. No sooner was it in his hand than three of the enemy returned—two on horseback, the third on foot. One of the horsemen charged him, but he leapt aside and dealt the man a blow that toppled him wounded from the saddle. The second man made full at him with his lance. Hills parried the thrust with a quick movement, and wounded the sowar in the head. Then up came the third man—a young, limber fellow. Hills was panting for breath after the violence of his exertions. In his fierce and rapid movements his cloak had in some way wound itself about his throat, so that he was almost suffocated. But after dealing with the horseman he stood to meet the last of his opponents, and as he came within reach aimed a shrewd blow at him with his sword. The new-comer was fresh and unwearied. He turned the stroke, seized Hills' sword by the hilt and wrenched it from his grasp. Thus left weaponless, a man might not be blamed if he took to flight. Not so Hills. He had neither sword nor pistol, but he had his fists, and he set upon the rebel with ardour, punching his head and face with such swift and vigorous blows that the man was quite unable to use his sword, and gave back. Unluckily, Hills slipped over his cloak on the sodden ground and fell flat. The rebel had just lifted his sword to cleave the fallen man's skull, when up galloped Major Tombs, his troop-captain, who had heard of the rebels' attack from a trooper of the Irregular Cavalry. In an instant he saw Hills' danger. He was still some thirty paces away, and before he could reach the spot the fatal blow would have been struck. Checking his horse, he rested his revolver on his left arm and took aim at the mutineer, shooting him through the body.

Major Tombs and the Lieutenant returned to their men, who had chased the rebels some little distance past the guns. Coming back by and by to secure the unlimbered gun, they saw another mutineer coolly walking off with the pistol which Hills had hurled at a rebel's head early in the fight. Hills closed with him: the man was a clever swordsman, and for a time it was a fencing-match between them. Then Hills rushed in with a thrust; the rebel jumped aside and dealt Hills a cut on the head that stretched him on the ground. Once more Major Tombs came to the rescue, and ended the matter with his sword.

This incident was the talk of the camp, and Ahmed, who had seen it all, learnt by and by that the officers were to be recommended for the Victoria Cross. He had never heard of this, and inquired what it was.

"Oh," said the bhisti to whom he put the question, "'tis a little brown cross that the great Memsahib over the black water pins to the dhoti of a soldier who is very brave."

"And is it given only to the sahibs, or to us folks of the country as well?"

"That I know not. I never heard of any one but a Feringhi getting it. But why dost ask! Dost think that thou, who art but a banijara, art brave enough to please the great Memsahib?"

"What I think matters nothing, O bhisti. But there are brave men everywhere, even among bhistis."

And Ahmed had now a new goal at which to aim.