He slipped on his dressing-gown and boots quietly, so as not to disturb Lawrence, and followed the man across the compound. As he reached the havildar's side, the cry was repeated again.

"What are the sahib's orders?" said Gur Buksh.

"Did you hear what he said?" asked Bob.

"No, sahib; it was like the cry of a man for help."

"Are the Kalmucks playing a trick on us? Have you heard anything of them?"

"Nothing, sahib."

"Let down the bridge. We had better see."

"The sahib will without doubt take lamps?"

"Yes, and your men."

The Sikhs had already been awakened. In a few minutes four of them accompanied Bob across the bridge, the first carrying a candle lamp.

The far side of the bridge rested on a platform constructed on a rock in mid-stream. The rock was connected with the farther bank by a short bridge supported on timbers and resembling a rough wooden jetty. Gur Buksh had said that the cry seemed to have come from the end of the bridge, and Bob searched for some time up and down the track for a few yards in each direction, listening again for the sound. It was not repeated. He proceeded to range the s.p.a.ce once occupied by the Pathans'

huts, but made no discovery. Puzzled, and still half suspecting that the cry had been a ruse to decoy him from the mine, he returned to the bridge, and was about to cross, when the man who held the lamp uttered a sudden exclamation.

"Behold, sahib; here he is!"

He pointed to a man lying across one of the girders sustaining the platform. Only his head could be seen. Bob knelt down and stooped over, asking the Sikh to lower the lamp. He saw a bearded, turbaned man in uniform, with arms and legs twined about the girder.

"He is unconscious," he said. "Lift him up and bring him into the compound."

The Sikhs had some difficulty in raising the man, who, in spite of his unconsciousness, clung tenaciously to the beam. But they got him up at last, and carried him across the bridge and up to the house. Bob waited to see the bridge lowered again, then hurried back.

"Cold water, khansaman," he said as he entered.

The man brought a mug of water, which he set down on the table. Bob wondered why he did not himself hold it to the stranger's lips, until he guessed that caste was probably the obstacle. He himself gave the man drink, and looked at him with curiosity, which became recognition as he opened his eyes. It was Ganda Singh, the dafadar of the sowars who had accompanied Major Endicott on his mission months before.

"Salaam, sahib," said the man faintly, when he saw that Bob had recognized him.

"Feel better now?" said Bob.

Ganda Singh had closed his eyes again. Bob noticed that he was very pale and haggard, as one exhausted after a long march.

"Just get one of the Sikhs to prepare him some food, khansaman," he said. "I suppose you won't do it yourself?"

"He is a Sikh, sahib."

"Well, cut away to one of his own race, then. He's fit for nothing at present."

He considered whether he should wake Lawrence, but decided to let him sleep on until the man was able to explain his presence. He himself was absolutely unconscious of any feeling of fatigue. Ganda Singh's surprising appearance filled him with overmastering excitement.

Reviving after some hot lentil soup had been poured between his lips, the dafadar raised himself slightly from the couch on which he had been laid. Bob noticed a twinge of pain as he moved his arm.

"Wounded?" he said.

"A shot in the shoulder, sahib--very little."

"As you came down the track?"

"No, sahib; before."

He fumbled in his belt, and produced a small piece of paper, folded.

This he handed to Bob, who opened it, and read, scrawled on a leaf torn from a pocket-book, the following lines--

"_Get back to India at once. Whole country ablaze.--H. Endicott._"

"Where is Endicott Sahib?" he asked quickly.

"In the hills towards the Afghan country, sahib."

"Near where we left him? He has not been there all this time?"

"No, sahib; Endicott Sahib went back to Rawal Pindi, and came again."

"And he is well?"

"In body, sahib, wherein I rejoice; but very sick in mind."

"Tell me all about it; slowly, don't distress yourself. Here, let me strip off your coat, gently, and see what's wrong. Wait a little, though; I must fetch Lawrence Sahib."

Loth as he was to disturb his brother's rest, he felt instinctively that the news brought by Ganda Singh was to affect their destinies vitally.

"Wake up, old chap," he said to Lawrence, prodding him. "Slip on your dressing-gown and come into the dining-room."

"Are they attacking?" asked Lawrence sleepily.

"No. Major Endicott has sent Ganda Singh with a message, telling us to clear out. I'm afraid things are looking very serious. Come on!"

Lawrence waited only to plunge his head into a basin of cold water, then followed his brother into the dining-room.

"Salaam, sahib," said Ganda Singh with a smile of friendliness. Like everybody else he had a warm feeling towards the chota sahib.

"Now, dafadar, tell us all about it; take your time."

He bathed and bound up the wounded arm while Ganda Singh talked.

The story told by him filled the boys' cup of anxiety and dismay. He related how Major Endicott, after pacifying the unruly tribe to which Nagdu belonged, had returned slowly to headquarters, visiting on the way several other tribes within his allotted portion of the borderlands.

But he had soon been called away again by news of another outbreak, among the very people whom he had just reduced to quietness. Once more he set off, attended as before by his official escort of twelve troopers. This time he had woefully failed to repress their turbulence, which, indeed, swelled into active hostility. One day, attacked by overwhelming numbers, he had been forced to flee for his life. Before the little party got away, it had lost several in killed and wounded, and the Major, refusing to leave the wounded to the tender mercies of the enemy, had lost his chance of making good his escape. He was headed off, and galloped for refuge to a half-ruined hill-tower some little distance west of his route, where he had been since besieged by the tribesmen.

On the second day of the investment he had scribbled the chit in his pocket-book, torn out the leaf, and given it to the dafadar with orders to leave the tower by night and make all speed to Mr. Appleton's mine.

Ganda Singh had crept out and stolen away to the rear, but his movements were detected, and he had run the gauntlet of a fusillade. One shot had taken effect, but the wound was slight, and he had pressed on, eluded the enemy's pickets, and after a long round gained the road that led ultimately to the mine. He had carried very little food with him, and was almost exhausted, rather by fatigue than by loss of blood, when, about two miles from the mine, he stumbled upon a small bivouac of ten or a dozen men. Luckily he had heard their horses stamping and champing their bits while still at some distance from them, and was careful to approach them warily. Having no means of telling whether they were friends or foes, he decided to slip past them quietly in the darkness.

He could barely drag himself over the last mile, and on reaching the platform, being thoroughly worn out, he stumbled, and only saved himself from falling into the river by clutching at the girder as he fell.