Before morning broke, however, it was clear that the march must be intermitted. The girl was in no condition to walk, nor could she sit the horse; and the palki-wallahs, men of no great stamina or muscular development, were worn out. Bitterly as he deplored the necessity, Ahmed saw that further progress was impossible for the present, and promised the men that if they would hold out until the dawn, which must be at hand, he would let them have a long rest. He was still hoping that daylight would reveal the encampment of the Guides.

Very soon afterwards the sky lightened, and he saw nothing but the long dusty road and the wide plain on either side. It would clearly be unsafe to continue the journey now that they could be seen, so a hiding-place must be found where they might lie up in comparative comfort during the day. The men were so exhausted that he ventured now for the first time to leave them, to search for a hiding-place himself. At a little distance from the road he discovered a nullah, and, scrambling up the bed of the watercourse, now nearly dry, he came upon a spot overgrown with thorn and brambles, which would shelter the whole party, save, perhaps, the horse. He retraced his steps, explained to the girl what he proposed to do, and led the horse in advance of the party to the place of concealment. When they were settled there, he found, a little higher up, a tall bush standing almost as high as the horse's head, and there he left the animal, speaking to him, and knowing that the faithful beast would not move from the spot until his master called him.

The bed of the watercourse was fairly steep. Two or three tall trees overhung it. Ahmed thought by climbing one of these he might get a view of the surrounding country. He managed to make the girl understand that he wished her to watch the bearers, and use the knife upon any of them who should attempt to escape or call out. Even if she had not the nerve for such action, he thought that the men, having heard what he said, might shrink from putting the matter to the test.

Then he scrambled up the side of the nullah and nimbly climbed the tallest tree. What he saw from his perch was not reassuring. A little to the right of the road, perhaps a koss distant, a troop of horsemen, dismounted, were resting at the edge of a small plantation, which concealed them from any one passing along the highway. Beyond them the ground rose slightly, scarcely enough to be called a hill, and yet sufficiently to cut off any more extended view southward. Far away on all sides stretched open country, with little vegetation except patches of scrub. Many miles to the left he fancied he descried the white roofs of a village, but in front the road ran between almost bare plains.

Ahmed guessed that the plantation at which the men were resting surrounded a tank where they had watered their horses. He had no doubt that they were those who had passed in the night. Yet he wondered why they had halted at that particular spot, for if it was a tank, there was in all probability a village on the other side of the rising ground. He watched them for a time, and presently saw a man riding towards them from round the shoulder of the hillock. As he reached them, some of the dismounted men crowded about him; in the distance they looked to Ahmed like flies clustering. After a time two of them mounted their horses, and accompanied the new-comer along the high-road in the direction of Delhi. When they came near the crest of the rising ground they halted and dismounted. One of the men held the horses in the middle of the road, while the others went on foot to the top, and gradually disappeared as they descended on the further side. The third man remained motionless with the horses in the road.

Ahmed felt interested. What were they about? What lay beyond the hillock?

After a while he saw two figures reappear on the skyline. They were no doubt the same two, for they walked down to the man with the horses, mounted, and trotted back to the main body. A few minutes afterwards two other men left the plantation and rode up the acclivity as the others had done, dismounting also before they reached the top. While one held the horses the other ascended the slope, with a slowness that spoke of caution, and went out of sight as the others had done before him. Ahmed looked for him to return after an interval, but minute after minute slipped away and still he did not reappear. Had he gone on some scouting errand, or perhaps to take post as sentry? It was clear that on the further side of the hillock something was going on in which the horsemen on this side were keenly interested.

All at once the explanation occurred to Ahmed. The Guides were without doubt encamped beyond the hillock. It had been their practice all through the march from Mardan to halt in the early morning. The horsemen at the plantation were probably a roving band of mutinous sowars from Delhi, who had been raiding, and now found the Guides between them and the city. To obtain confirmation of his conclusions, Ahmed slipped down from the tree and asked one of the men whether there was a village beyond the hillock.

"Truly there is," said the man, "and it is some seventeen koss from Karnal."

This was the distance the Guides might be expected to march during the night.

"And how far is it from us?" he asked.

"Thy servant knows not with any certainty, but maybe it is two koss."

It was a tantalizing situation to be in. Ahmed felt sure that his comrades were encamped within an hour's march of him and yet he could not reach them. Why had the sowars halted at the plantation instead of returning to Delhi by some roundabout route? And yet, he reflected, even if they were not there, he could hardly dare to move on in the broad daylight. There were the same dangers to be feared as had determined his previous conduct.

The position was delicate enough. The sowars might take alarm. In that case they would probably retreat to find some shelter, and might easily come upon the very nullah in which the little party was concealed. The Guides would no doubt remain in their encampment for the greater part of the day, moving on again when night fell. Even if the rebel horsemen should not be scared by any action of the Guides, it was always possible that some of them should take it into their heads to go a-roving. At any moment, too, a villager, a wandering mendicant, a kasid from one village to another, might cross the plain and get sight of the fugitives. There were signs of footpaths, and passers-by would not need to come right up to the nullah before suspecting the presence of the hidden party, for Ruksh was but imperfectly concealed by the bush.

Moreover, the party would soon be in want of food. The bearers had with them provisions for only one day, and though Ahmed did not know how much food was in the palki, he suspected that it was very little: the zamindar would hardly have foreseen the possibility of so long a delay in reaching his brother's house. Ruksh could find some little sustenance in the leaves of the shrubs around him, but he would soon strip them bare. There was water in the bed of the nullah, and the bearers had already given the girl some in the lotah she had used before; they themselves of course, being Hindus, would not drink from the vessel which her lips had contaminated, but stooped and lapped up the running water. But none of the party was in a condition to wait through the long hours of an Indian day in the hottest season of the year, and then to undertake a night march, without more refreshment than it seemed possible for them to obtain. Ahmed thought over the situation with no little anxiety. To move away might be immediately fatal; the only alternative was to remain hidden on the chance of the sowars by and by moving off.

Once more Ahmed climbed the tree to keep watch. The sun rose higher and higher, and yet there was no sign of a movement among the party. But after some time he noticed the man who had gone over the brow of the hill returning. He came much faster than he had gone. Rejoining his waiting comrade, he mounted his horse, and the two galloped down to the rest. Instantly the whole party sprang to their feet, loosened their horses, and sprang into the saddle. A few even started to ride across the plain in a straight line for the nullah, and Ahmed feared that in a few minutes the fugitives would be discovered. He knew that if they were seen there was no help for them; with his single hand he could do nothing against a troop of horse. The sowars came on until they were within a hundred yards of the nullah, and Ahmed shrank back among the leaves, fearing lest he might be seen and so draw the men on. But they suddenly wheeled half round and cantered to the road, where they halted.

Their comrades meanwhile, though they had mounted their horses, had not left the plantation. Apparently they were waiting to see if the report brought to them by their scout was correct. After some time they appeared to decide that it was a false alarm, for half-a-dozen now left the main body and rode up the hillock, dismounting as the others had done previously, and skirmishing forward over the crest. In a few minutes they returned and trotted back again. The smaller body who had taken panic returned slowly to rejoin their comrades. They all dismounted, tethered their horses, and once more stretched themselves at ease under the shade of the plantation.

Ahmed watched them for a long time. There was no sign of further movement among them. It looked as if they had settled down to doze through the hot hours of the day. The prospect of being kept at a standstill became more and more unendurable. To say nothing of the torture of remaining through the long hours of torrid heat without adequate protection or sufficient food, there was the danger that, if his journey could not be resumed until nightfall, he would reach the encampment of the Guides only to find them gone. Was it not possible, he wondered, in some way to get past or round the men who lay between him and safety? Obviously the whole party, with the palki, could not advance openly across the bare plain. Nor could he alone venture to go, in the tell-tale uniform of the Guides, to bring assistance to the missy sahib. If only he were clad in the costume of Shagpur he would have risked the attempt.

Suddenly a new idea crossed his mind. Was it possible to disguise himself? The palki-wallahs could not help him; they had little on but their loin-cloths. He wished he had stripped the zamindar whom he had left on the ground. There was not likely to be a spare dhoti in the palki. But he remembered the coloured hangings of that vehicle. If he tore those down and wound them over his khaki tunic, they might raise a question as to what his race and position were, but they would certainly never cause any one to suspect that he was one of the Guides.

Hitherto he had shrunk from leaving the missy sahib. But now the position was desperate. To die of fright, hunger, and exposure to the heat might be her fate; an accident might at any moment lead to her discovery; yet there was at least a chance that by carrying out the plan which had suggested itself to him he could secure her safety. The bearers had been cowed into submissiveness; the natives, for all their brave talk, were very amenable to stern and authoritative handling. Threats of grievous punishment on the one hand, and promises of liberal bakshish on the other, might at any rate keep their wills in a state of oscillation, so that they would not make up their minds to any positive course. And if only the missy sahib would summon up a little resolution, and show that she meant to use the knife he had given her if they attempted to betray her whereabouts, he would feel a certain confidence in leaving her for a time. He could at any rate fasten them more tightly together. There were creepers growing on the sides of the nullah, and strands of these would make very serviceable bonds.

His resolution fixed, he climbed down the tree and crept to the palki. It was difficult for him to explain his purpose to the girl without the assistance of the bearers, but he did not wish them to know too much. The missy sahib herself was so depressed from anxiety and want of sleep, as well as from the effects of the heat, that she was slower to apprehend than she might otherwise have been. But he succeeded after a time in making her understand that he was going to bring help from the sahibs, who were very near at hand, and that during his absence she was to strike without compunction any of the bearers who tried either to free himself or to give an alarm. Then he cut lengths of creeper sufficient for his purpose, and tied the men's arms and legs together so that they could not move. He did not gag them; they were in a state of abject submission; and when he told them that the missy sahib would certainly kill them if they uttered a word above a whisper, they declared that they had no tongues until he gave them leave. Then he wrenched the muslin curtains of the palki from their fastenings, and with the missy sahib's help his khaki was soon entirely concealed.

As she twisted the stuff around him she suddenly said—

"There is a little black hole in your pagri, and the cloth is scorched around it. Did you know that?"

He did not understand her until at her bidding he took the pagri from his head, and she pointed to the spot. Then he remembered that the zamindar had fired almost point-blank at him, and did not doubt that the bullet had gone through his head-dress. But he had no words to explain this to the girl, and would hardly have done so if he could. It had been a narrow escape: a Pathan took such incidents as a matter of course.

Having made his preparations, he repeated his orders to the men, and led his horse gently up the nullah towards the road. It was now midday; the sun burnt at its fiercest; not a living soul was passing along the road, and the horsemen at the plantation were without doubt in a state of somnolence. It was not at all improbable that he might mount and ride some paces before he was seen. He crept quietly along the nullah until he reached the end, then sprang lightly into the saddle, walked the horse the few yards to the road, and urged it to a mad gallop towards Delhi. Some few seconds passed before the clatter of the hoofs was heard by the men dozing in the plantation; then some of them rose lazily to their feet and gazed at this strange figure in yellow and red tearing along so furiously. As soon as he was within hailing distance Ahmed flung up his arms and shouted—

"The Feringhis! The sahibs! They are upon us! Fly for your lives!"

The effect was magical. The lethargic sowars were galvanized into activity. Those who were already upon their feet rushed to their horses, unloosed them, and in a few moments were galloping at a headlong speed in a direction at right angles to the road. Those who had as yet been too sleepy or too incurious to rise sprang up and followed their comrades' example. Soon the whole party was scattered, each man riding as his fear directed him, the dust of the plain flying up in clouds from the heels of their horses. And still Ahmed rode on, crying lustily, "The sahibs are upon us!"

He breasted the hillock, topped the crest, and gained the other side. Then he saw what had so much occupied the sowars earlier in the day. Some three miles ahead of him the white tents of the Guides gleamed in the sunlight. Between him and them there was a small mounted patrol of the same corps. He gave a joyful shout, and Ruksh flew down the gentle slope with responsive gaiety. The men of the patrol caught sight of him as soon as he of them, though in the distance it was impossible to distinguish what or who he was. On he rode, and as he drew nearer he began to tear off the coloured muslin that disguised him. The khaki was disclosed. Wondering, the sowars of the patrol watched as he approached, shading their eyes against the sunbeams. Presently one of them recognized the horse; there was no horse like Ruksh in the corps. Then another shouted, "'Tis Ahmed!" and cantered to meet him.

"What news?" he cried.

But Ahmed galloped past, throwing a mere word of greeting to his comrades. Nor did he draw rein until he reached the commandant's quarters. Then his story was quickly told. Five minutes afterwards a half-troop rode out under Lieutenant Hawes, Ahmed leading the way. When they reached the crest there was no sign of the mutineers. They had utterly vanished off the plain. Riding down to the nullah, they found the palki-wallahs lying fast asleep in the shade of the bushes where Ahmed had left them, and the missy sahib asleep in the palki, grasping the knife. Ahmed flung himself from his horse, kicked the bearers awake, and cut their bonds. Meanwhile Lieutenant Hawes was trying to awaken the girl, speaking to her quietly so as not to startle her. His low tones making no impression, he touched her lightly on the arm. She sprang up with a shriek, lifting the knife. Then, seeing an English face, and hearing an English voice, she flung down the weapon and, to Lieutenant Hawes' amazement, fairly flung herself into his arms.

"Poor child! You are safe now," he said. "Here, you," he cried sharply to the palki-wallahs, "get to your poles; quickly!"

The four men hastened to obey, and the party set off to return to the camp.

"Your nobility will remember the bakshish," said one of them to Ahmed as they started.

"Chup! Am I not one of Lumsden Sahib's Guides?" was the answer.

Later in the day, Ahmed told the whole story in detail to the group of officers. The missy sahib had already given them her version of it, and had indeed sung the praises of the young Guide, and asked Captain Daly to reward him handsomely. Daly, however, knew that the proud native of North-west Hindustan is a good deal more sensitive in matters of this kind than the average man of the plains, and while giving Ahmed unstinted praise, he refrained from offering any tangible recompense.

"I am proud to have you in the corps," he said. "The matter will not be forgotten, and when we have finished the march, and have a little time to rest, I will give you a sheep so that you may feast your friends."

Praise from the sahib was reward enough to the men of the Guides. And Sherdil, who had heard the story from Ahmed previously, was envious, and bemoaned his ill-luck in missing the opportunity which had fallen to his friend.

"May water never flow through that accursed nullah!" he cried. "None of us were able to leap it; it took me half-an-hour to get my horse out of it, and the others had to go a great way round about. And then we were recalled, but we returned later and sought you, and found, not you, but a dog of a Hindu lying with a cut in his shoulder, and we finished what you had left undone."

Savagery was in the blood of these men. The butchery of a wounded man gave them no compunction, and Ahmed, who had grown up among them, was as ignorant as they themselves of the chivalry which bids an Englishman spare his beaten foe.

When the evening cool descended, Captain Daly sent the missy sahib under escort to Karnal, where she would be safe under the protection of Mr. Le Bas.

It was the morning of the 9th of June when the Guides reached the camp on the Ridge, two miles north-west of Delhi. They marched in as firm and light as if they had come but a mile instead of thirty. News of their great achievement had been brought in by native couriers, and a vast crowd was assembled to meet these intrepid warriors who had covered five hundred and eighty miles in twenty-two days. As they reached the lines, Ahmed was amazed to see some of the infantry break their ranks and rush up to an English officer distinguished by his very fair hair. They clung to his stirrups, some kissed his hands, others his feet, pressing upon him with such excitement as to cause alarm to some of his fellow-officers.

"What is it?" asked Ahmed of Sherdil.

"'Tis that they are pleased to see Hodson Sahib. He was our commander when Lumsden Sahib went over the black water, and we love him. Wah! he is a fighter. See him with the sword: there is no match for him. It is good to see him again."

And then came an opportunity for these hardy warriors to show the stuff of which they were made. Even as they approached the Ridge a staff-officer galloped to meet them, and accosting Captain Daly asked how soon he could be ready for action.

"In half-an-hour," replied the gallant captain.

It happened that since early morning parties of horse and foot had sallied from Delhi to attack the advanced posts of the British. Since attack is ever the best defence, General Barnard ordered his men to move out and drive back the enemy. The Guides went forward at the trumpet call with irresistible dash, and were soon engaged hand to hand with the vastly superior numbers of the mutineers. They carried all before them, but at a heavy price. Lieutenant Battye was shot through the body, and died murmuring "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori." Lieutenant Hawes was clipped across the face with a sword, Lieutenant Kennedy was wounded in the arm; and Captain Daly himself, after having his horse killed under him, was struck in the leg by a spent bullet. Many of the men were killed or wounded. But to be in the thick of a fight was as wine to the Guides. Every man burned to uphold the honour of the corps, and though they were saddened by the loss of so many officers and men before they had even pitched their tents, they were conscious of having borne themselves as their loved commander Lumsden Sahib would have wished them to do, and were content.