"Don't kill me, master," came in a low supplicating whisper.

"Dost!" I exclaimed, for I recognised the voice.

"Yes, master," he cried, turning to me.

"What were you doing here?" said Brace, sternly.

"I came up when all was dark and the budmashes were all gone, master,"

said the man with trembling accents. "I have been to master's quarters."

"To plunder?" said Brace, sternly.

"Master's servant is honest and never steals," said Dost, quickly.

"Master can search and see."

"I think--I'm sure he is honest," I said hastily. "Tell us, Dost. Who is in the barracks now?"

"The dead men, master," said the Hindu solemnly. "There is no one living there. Yes," he added quickly, "I did hear sounds, but I could find n.o.body. And the mem sahib is gone."

"Where did you hear the sounds?" I asked.

"By the stables, my lord. If the budmashes had not taken away all the horses I should have thought the horses were there still."

"And they are," I whispered to Brace.

"Be cautious," he whispered back. "We must not trust this man. Dost, tell me; the major--where is he?"

The man sighed, and said softly--

"The burra major is dead. I have laid his body inside the mess-room.

The mem sahib must have escaped or been carried off."

"You did this, Dost?" I cried, after a pause.

"Yes, sahib. It was dreadful for him to lie there."

"Take us where you have laid him," said Brace, sternly; "but mind, if you attempt to escape, I shall fire."

"Why should thy servant try to escape?" said the man simply. "This way."

"You do not trust him?" I said to Brace.

"Trust?" he replied bitterly. "Who can ever trust a Hindu again?"

We followed Dost across the compound, to where the blank windows of the mess-room loomed out of the darkness, and we saw that they and the door were carefully closed.

"I have misjudged him, Gil," whispered Brace; "he has been here."

As the Hindu began to open the door, we glanced sharply about the place, each holding his double rifle, ready for immediate action against human tigers, as I told myself. But all was silent and deserted, and as I looked toward the major's quarters and thought of the pleasant English lady who had so often made me welcome in the little drawing-room she fitted up so charmingly wherever we stayed, and whose soft carpets, purdahs, and screens came back to my memory in the soft light of the shaded lamps, I shivered, and wondered what had been her fate.

"I could not find the lieutenant, sahib," said Dost, as he threw open the door.

"Be on your guard, Gil," whispered Brace to me in French; "it may be a trap after all. Hush! Look out. I thought so," he cried; and I swung round the muzzle of my rifle, as four figures suddenly came upon us from out of the darkness at our back.

The alarm was momentary, for a familiar voice said, as the point of a sword gritted in the sand at the speaker's feet--

"All right. I was growing uneasy about you, and brought three of the boys in case of accident."

"Thank you, doctor," said Brace. "We are going in here. The major--"

"Hush!" said the doctor, drawing in a hissing breath. "Stand fast, my lads."

"If you hear anything wrong," said Brace to the three men who stood sword in hand, "you know what to do."

There was a low hiss, more than a murmur, and then we were in the darkness of the mess-room.

"I'll shut the door," said Dost, softly.

"Why?" said the doctor, quickly.

"The sahib doctor can trust me," said the man, quietly. "It is dark. I am going to light a candle. I think the barracks are quite empty, but some of the budmashes might be about seeking to rob, and they would see the light."

He closed the door, and the darkness for the moment was intense, while my heart beat with a heavy throb as I wondered whether, after all, there was treachery intended, and Brace's words rang in my ears--"Who can ever trust a Hindu again?"

The silence was awful in the moments which followed the closing of the door. There was a faint rustling sound followed by a sharp click click, which I knew was the c.o.c.king of a rifle or pistol; then came a sc.r.a.ping sound as of a sword-edge touching the wall--sounds which told me that my suspicions were shared; but, directly after, they were dispelled, for there was a crackling noise and a faint line of light; a repet.i.tion of the scratching, accompanied by a few sparks, and, at the third repet.i.tion, there was a flash which lit up the dark face of Dost and his white turban; then the match began to burn, and we could see his fingers look transparent as he sheltered the flame and held it to a piece of candle, which directly after lit up the mess-room, one wreck now of broken gla.s.s, shattered chairs, and ragged curtain and cloth.

I saw all that at a glance, but as my eyes wandered about the room, they rested upon a couch at the side, upon which lay something covered completely by a tablecloth, whose whiteness was horribly stained.

I shuddered, and tried to turn my eyes away, but I could not, and involuntarily I followed Brace and the doctor, as Dost went to the couch.

"Better keep away, Gil, lad," said Brace, in a low voice, full of emotion. "You will have enough horrors forced upon you without seeking them out."

I made no answer, but I did not retire, as Brace softly raised the cloth from the face of our commanding officer, and I saw that, though disfigured by a couple of terrible cuts, it was quite placid; and my heart warmed--in my sorrow for my poor friend--toward the Hindu servant who had so reverently treated his remains.

Then a thrill ran through me, for as Brace stood holding the cloth raised, and Dost held the candle for us to see, the doctor uttered an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, pushed Brace rudely aside, and then laid his rifle on the ground, and began to tear open the light cotton garment the major wore, while his busy hands played, in the dim light, about his breast.

"Here, Dost," he whispered, "put down the light. Tear this cloth into narrow bandages. Vincent, lad, take out my pocket-book from my breast, and open it."

"Great heavens, Danby!" began Brace.

"Thank Heaven, you mean," said the doctor, in his quick, business-like way. "Good job I'm here. Dost, you fool, you shouldn't be in such a hurry. Why, you might have buried him. The man's not dead."

No word was uttered, but there was a quick expiration of the breath, and then a busy silence, only broken by the rustling movements of the doctor, who kept on examining and bandaging.

At last he began to speak.

"Wonderful how nature stops bleeding," he whispered. "He has cuts and stabs enough to have bled any one to death, but there's a spark left yet."