Sherdil did not do things by halves. He was now as keen as Ahmed himself that the boy should become one of the Guides. During the next fortnight he devoted every spare moment to coaching him in the shooting tests. Ahmed had never shot with a carbine, but only with the heavy jazail of the tribesmen. Sherdil sought out a secluded spot among the lower hills where practising could be carried on without attracting attention, and lent Ahmed his own carbine to practise with. And since it was impossible to obtain ammunition belonging to the corps, he spent some of his saved pay in buying powder, shot, and percussion caps in Peshawar, and refilled some old cartridge cases. He drew a rough target on the face of a rock, and diligently played musketry instructor until he could declare that Ahmed was as good a shot as any of the candidates was likely to be at various ranges.

About three weeks after Ahmed's arrival, Lumsden Sahib announced one day that there was a vacancy in the cavalry. One of the men had overstopped his leave, and was summarily dismissed. It appeared later that the trooper had employed his leave in hunting down a hill-man whose father had spoken disrespectfully of his own grandmother, and until the slight was avenged the man had no other object in life.

Sherdil lost no time in conveying the news to Ahmed. There was great bustle among the candidates and their friends, and as the day appointed for the competition drew near, the camp outside the walls of the fort became monstrously swollen with relatives of the competitors and people who had come from Peshawar for the mere pleasure and excitement of the event. Among them were representatives of every race of the borderland, speaking a variety of dialects, and keen partisans of the men of their own blood among the competitors.

The men of the Guides were as much excited as the rest. The corps was divided into companies, each of which consisted of men of one race; and though all were as loyal as any European soldiers could be, and had as high an ideal of soldierly duty and the honour of the corps, the men of one company would, on slight provocation, have flown at the throats of those of another if they met when on leave. The vacancy being for a cavalryman, the competitors were almost all exceptionally tall, strapping fellows, and the little Gurkhas among the candidates were vastly disappointed that the defaulting Guide had not been an infantryman.

On a fine October morning, with a light cold wind blowing down from the hills—herald of the winter—the competitors marched to the rifle range, accompanied by three of the English officers—Lumsden himself, Quintin Battye, the second in command, and Kennedy, commandant of the cavalry. Behind them came a rabble of spectators, laughing and yelling with excitement, and almost the whole of the corps. Arrived at the range, the competitors, twenty-five in all, were drawn up in line—Afridis and Sikhs, Hazaras and Waziris, Afghans and Pathans of different clans—and answered to their names as Lumsden Sahib called over the list. Ahmed's name came last, and as he, like the rest, answered "Hazur! I am here," he caught the eyes of all the officers fixed on him, and felt a strange nervousness under the scrutiny.

"Where is that rascal Sherdil?" cried Lumsden.

"Hazur! I am here," replied the man, saluting as he stepped out from the throng, and looking very like a dog that expected a whipping.

"What does this trick mean? This Ahmed of yours is a mere boy; you said he was a little younger than yourself. You seem to be playing up for a flogging, my man."

"Heaven-born, is it a time to be unjust? Did I not answer truly? I said I would not tell his age to a day, and the heaven-born would not have had me say he is older than I. That would have been very foolish."

"But this is a boy: his beard is not grown; we have no place for such in the corps."

"As for the beard, heaven-born, that will come. If I shave my beard and moustache—which Allah forbid!—my face will be even as Ahmed's. Shoes are tested on the feet, sahib, and a man in a fight. Behold him; his forehead is bright, since his sword-tip is red with blood. He has slain beasts and men; did he not come with me and blow up Minghal's tower? And then, to be sure, he had a moustache and the shadow of a beard, and if the heaven-born pleases we can get the conjurer in Peshawar to furnish him very quickly with the necessary hair. And he can shoot; if I do not offend to say it, he can shoot as well as the heaven-born himself; and he is a good shikari; and as for riding a horse—wah! let Kennedy Sahib judge of that. Look at a man's deeds, heaven-born, not whether he is tall or short. The thorn which is sharp is so from its youth, and——"

"Chup!" said Lumsden, who, with the other officers, had scarcely been able to keep his countenance during this address. "You have a moist tongue. You quote your proverbs at me; I'll give you one: 'A closed mouth is better than talking nonsense.'"

"True, sahib," said Sherdil quickly, "and there is yet another: 'If you are not a good judge of beasts, choose a young one.'"

At this, and Sherdil's sententious look, as of one who says "That's a clincher," Lumsden laughed outright.

"'The child is father of the man,'" said Battye, with whom quoting was a habit. "Give the boy a trial; we'll soon see whether this man's talk is all froth."

And so Ahmed was admitted to the competition. The spectators had been growing restless and restive during the colloquy, but now that the first man took post opposite the target, and lay flat on the ground, they hushed their noise and awaited the issue breathlessly. The range was three hundred yards; the marksman was a tall, grave-looking Sikh, and as his musket flashed and the marker signalled a bull's-eye, a great shout arose from his compatriots.

"Shahbash! Bravo! That's a fine shot. Thou'lt surely win, Faiz."

And then the partisans of the other men tried to shout the Sikh's friends down.

"Bah! what is that? A bull's-eye, you say. But it was an accident; the wind carried the bullet. Allah willing, he will miss next time. Courage, Sula; look not at the cock on his dunghill."

Similar cries, varying as the result of the shots, greeted the Sikh's succeeding attempts. Then came Sula's turn.

"Hai! Now he shoots!" cried his friends. "What is the marker about? A miss? Truly the jins are spiteful, the musket is bewitched. Do not lose heart, O Sula, the sahib will give thee another musket, and then wilt thou show thyself more than a match for that son of a pig."

And Sula, having taken another musket, fired off his six shots and retired.

The next came along, an Afghan, with features of a markedly Semitic cast, and with him a flock of his partisans. The same scene was enacted, the same yells of delight and howls of derision, the same words of flattery and of abuse—all kept within certain bounds, however, by the presence of the sahibs.

At last it came to Ahmed's turn. The colloquy between Lumsden Sahib and Sherdil had drawn particular attention to him, and the Pathans of the Guides, who outnumbered men of other races in the corps, were specially interested in the doings of this young candidate. For ten days past Sherdil had boasted of his pupil's ability, and Sherdil having a moist tongue, as Lumsden Sahib had put it, and being something of a favourite, the Pathans were prepared to open their lungs in vociferous plaudits. Ahmed fired and missed. A growl of dismay broke from the Pathans' lips; the other men, who resented the cocksureness of Sherdil and his friends, leapt about with shrieks of delight. Sherdil himself looked a little blue; and as for Ahmed, he was quivering with excitement and nervousness, as the Englishmen perceived.

"Chup! you sons of dogs!" cried Kennedy Sahib. "Let the boy have fair play. This din of cats would spoil any man's eye. Chup! The boy has five more shots."

And Ahmed, pulling himself together, took careful aim amid a breathless stillness, drew the trigger—and the marker signalled a bull's-eye.

"Shahbash! Shahbash!" cried Sherdil, pirouetting like a mad fakir, brandishing his sword, hurling abuse at the friends of the other candidates. "Wah! did I not say he could shoot? How should he not, when I am his teacher? Of a truth, he is the man for the Guides."

When Ahmed had finished his round, he was equal with four others. Amid the din of altercation which ensued, Lumsden Sahib's voice was heard calling for order. The competitors had still to shoot at the longer ranges of five hundred and seven hundred yards. The excitement grew to fever heat as the number gradually thinned, until the choice clearly rested between Ahmed and a Rajput named Wahid. They were to have six shots at seven hundred yards to finish the match. Ahmed had now lost his first nervousness, and waited quietly with Sherdil and a group of his friends while Wahid fired his round. The spectators watched in dead silence as the man took aim. The first shot was a bull's-eye. "Wahid will win! Wahid will win!" roared a hundred throats. The second was an inner, the third an outer, and now Sherdil's party were hilarious, crying that Wahid's eye was crooked, his arm was as weak as a woman's; what was he good for, except to play the fiddle at a Hindu wedding? But their jubilation was checked when with his last three shots he scored three bull's-eyes.

"Wah! where is the Pathan now?" shouted the Rajput's partisans. "Sherdil eats greens and breathes pulao. A great sound and an empty pot. Come, let us see what the smooth-faced boy can do."

Ahmed took his place. Four times he scored a bull's-eye, and his friends fairly shrieked with delight.

"Wah! he will eat up Wahid till not a little bit is left. Let Wahid tend asses, that is all that he is good for."

The fifth shot was an inner.

"Hai!" said Sherdil. "Some low-born Rajput is breathing, and his foul breath blows the bullet away. But the next will be a bull's-eye; be ready, brothers, for Ahmed will win."

But when the marker signalled an outer the uproar became deafening. The scores of Wahid and Ahmed were equal. The partisans of each clamoured for the choice to fall on their man. Wahid was the father of two boys: therefore he was the better candidate. Ahmed was not so fat: therefore he would prove the better Guide. Wahid had stolen horses for twenty years: who so fit to catch horse-thieves? Ahmed had blown up fifty men with gunpowder (Sherdil did not stick at trifles): where would they find a Rajput who could say the same? Thus they bellowed against one another, urging more and more ridiculous reasons on behalf of their favourites, and then Lumsden cried for silence.

"There is only one place," he said, "and these two are equal as shots. For the life of me I don't know which of them to give it to. Come along, we'll try the riding test. Fetch out that unbroken colt; jaldi karo!"

The jabbering began afresh, while a sais went off to fetch the colt. The whole company repaired to a level stretch of about three hundred yards, where the men practised the game of nazebaze. A post stood at the further end. When the colt was brought up—a mettlesome beast with arab blood in it—Lumsden ordered the course to be cleared, and the excited throng having been pressed back on either side, told Ahmed to mount and ride the animal bareback to the post and back. Ahmed sprang on to the quivering horse, which bucked and reared, making frantic efforts to throw him. But the boy had been given his first lesson in riding in just this way; Rahmut Khan had set him on horseback and bade him look after himself. So now, gripping the reins firmly and pressing his knees into the animal's flanks, at the same time speaking soothing words that he used with his own horse Ruksh, he succeeded in turning its head towards the post, and in another moment was off like the wind. The shouts of the crowd terrified the horse; it reared and plunged, and then made a dash for the centre of the yelling mob on the right, which broke apart and scattered with shrieks of alarm. But Ahmed controlled his steed before it reached the edge of the course. He turned it once more into the straight; it ran on past the post at a mad gallop, which was only checked by a hillock in front of it. Then, giving it a minute to recover, Ahmed patted it and coaxed it, wheeled round, and rode straight back to the starting-point.

Sherdil and the Guides roared with applause.

"By Jove!" said Lieutenant Battye, turning to Kennedy, "what a seat the fellow has got! Better make him your riding-master, old chap."

"Don't want one," was the answer. "All my fellows can ride. Let's see what the Rajput can do."

Wahid was about the same height as Ahmed, but broader and heavier. He leapt on to the horse's back nimbly enough, and kept his seat, as it seemed, by sheer muscular force. The horse appeared to fear him, and started for the post with a docility that surprised everybody, and sent Sherdil's hopes once more down to zero. Wahid reached the post; then, instead of galloping past, he pulled the horse up with a violent tug on the reins, and wheeled it round to return. But the animal had a temper; this treatment did not please it at all; and when it had got half-way back to the starting-point, and the crowd was already yelling that the prize was to Wahid, because he had shown the better management, suddenly the horse stopped dead, planting his fore feet firmly in the sand; up flew its hind hoofs, and the Rajput went clean over its head, falling with a thwack just in front of its nose.

The roar that went up from the crowd might almost have been heard at Peshawar. The Guides to a man shouted Ahmed's name; the Pathans among the spectators danced a kind of war-dance, and some, losing their heads, fired off their jazails with imminent risk of blowing some one to pieces. Sherdil, after a glance at his commander's face, in which he read the verdict, called to a comrade, and Ahmed was hoisted on to their shoulders and carried in triumph back to the fort.

"Wah! Did I not say it?" cried Sherdil. "What a man seeketh happens to him. I said 'I, Sherdil, will teach thee, Ahmed, the right way and make thee a Guide.' And now we will have a tamasha. Lumsden Sahib will give us a sheep or a goat, and we will be very merry."

Thus Ahmed became a trooper of the Guides.