The major is a brave man, and so is Fletcher, but I shall be very much surprised if either of them dare trifle with Jan."

Major Munro had assembled the loyal Rajputs and thanked them in a straight soldierly speech that touched their faithful hearts and brought a glow of pride to their eyes. The Commissioner, moreover, deemed it well to let congratulations take a more substantial form. He therefore distributed the sum of five thousand rupees amongst the seventy survivors--a welcome reward for their loyalty and courage.

On the following morning Jim's anxiety and hesitation were removed, as a detachment of the 4th Sikhs--a glorious, loyal regiment--marched in and maintained order in the town.

Miss Woodburn's safety being thus assured, Captain Russell at once set out to rejoin his comrades in their seven hundred and fifty miles' march to the Mogul capital, and, to the delight of Ted and Paterson, the colonel allowed the boys to accompany the gallant corps.

We shall hear later on of that memorable march of the Corps of Guides to Delhi--the finest march in Indian history, if not indeed in the records of any army--as well as of their doings during the famous siege.

CHAPTER XIII

Tynan makes his Choice

The door of Tynan's prison opened and the captive's heart beat wildly.

Was it life or death? Only Ghulam Beg bringing his chupatties and water.

"Where is Pir Baksh?" he enquired. "I want to see him."

"The Subadar Sahib has gone out," replied the sepoy, leaving the room before any other questions could be asked. Tynan turned to his humble fare and regarded it with disgust. He felt wronged that he should be fed so meanly by the man he was to reward so handsomely. It was all there was, however, and hard bread was better than nothing, so he devoured it to the last crumb.

What was that? The loud booming of cannon roused him to his feet, an Englishman again, and he made desperate attempts to force open the shutters. The sharper crack and rattle of musketry--volley upon volley--followed the booming of the guns; then the cannon spoke again, and loud cries of alarm, exhortation, and triumph filled the air.

Surely it must be a rescue! He stamped up and down the narrow chamber like a caged wild beast, fuming and raging. Still no one came; he shrieked and stormed in vain.

His suspense was not for long. The door was flung open, and Pir Baksh, followed by his brother, Muhammad Baksh, Ghulam Beg, and another sepoy, rushed into the room. Tynan assumed an attitude of defence.

"Fool!" cried the subadar, anger and impatience in his voice. "I am come to save you. Quick! put on these clothes."

He flung down the garments of a sepoy, and Tynan hesitated. Why was Pir Baksh so excited? There was fear also in his eyes.

"What mean the noise of cannon, Pir Baksh?" he demanded.

"Quick, on with the uniform or we shall all be slain!" the Moslem angrily replied. "The rebels are mad, and they suspect that I have saved a Feringhi, and will soon be here, though I know not who has told them.

The noise thou didst hear was the cannon with which they have utterly destroyed the house of the Commissioner Sahib, and they have killed every man, woman, and child therein. Hasten! Hasten! In the name of the Prophet, hasten or thou art lost, and I too for being so foolish as to help thee!"

Another bitter disappointment for the lad. Hurriedly doffing the uniform of his rank and donning the disguising raiment, he followed his four warders outside, and away from the town--and from safety--the wild yells becoming fainter and fainter.

Presently the subadar turned into a road that led northeastwards, and slackened the pace to a walk, neither he nor his prisoner being in fit condition to run far. They walked on and on at a quick swinging stride, every step causing intense pain. Though Tynan begged them to rest awhile, Pir Baksh refused. His limbs and body had been rubbed and anointed; his bruises were nearly healed, and the rate of marching did not affect his broken arm. The lad's anguish was pitiful to see.

"Have we not gone far enough?" whispered one of the sepoys at last. "Let us halt here and put the cub to death. There is no one to interrupt."

The subadar was not so sure. The fact that he, Pir Baksh, had contrived to get hold of one of the Feringhi officers was not such a secret as he had led Tynan to believe, and he knew that some of his neighbours, in order to curry favour with the winning side, would probably impart the news to the Commissioner Sahib. Being an arrant coward he feared lest a rescue party should be following on his trail, and he knew what trackers the Gurkhas were. Until his anxiety on this head should be lifted, he did not mean to rid himself of his hostage.

He pressed the party forward until close upon sunset, when Tynan was absolutely incapable of another step. The heat had told upon his wasted strength, and he was on the point of fainting. Nothing save the hope of escape could have kept him up so long. They halted in a small clearing among the trees.

"For heaven's sake, subadar, let me have something to eat!"

"I think the place will suit our purpose," Pir Baksh observed, calmly ignoring the boy's request.

The words and tone struck Tynan as a whip-lash across the face. He looked round for a way of escape, and his arms were seized from behind.

Unnecessary precaution! He was much too weak to resist, and Ghulam Beg threw him roughly to the ground. Pir Baksh contemptuously kicked his fallen enemy.

"Fool!" he snarled. "Didst thou think to escape my vengeance so easily?"

The wretched boy saw the look of hatred in the brute's eyes, and felt that he was doomed. There was no hope of mercy there. He knew at last that the blackguard's object had been to increase his misery by raising his hopes, and the vile scheme had succeeded.

"Remember your oath," the ensign gasped. "Remember the reward, Pir Baksh."

"And dost thou think," the traitor retorted with an air of virtue that sat badly upon his vicious face, "dog of an unbeliever, that we of the Faith would sell our souls for money?"

Again he kicked the prostrate Tynan.

"In what manner shall we slay him?" asked Muhammad Baksh.

"Bury him alive," suggested Ghulam Beg.

"With our bayonets?" sneered the third sepoy. "Let us talk sense."

"Tie him to yonder tree, then," said Tynan's late attendant, "and make a target of him. Fire first at hands and feet and legs and arms."

"Aye, and make a noise that may be heard for miles?" the leader angrily retorted.

Pir Baksh had his reasons for wishing to put his victim away more quietly. In a state of abject terror Tynan listened to the horrible suggestions. The nightmare of suspense and despair experienced in his prison chamber was as nothing to this.

"I have a better plan," said the subadar quietly. "Ye will tie him hand and foot to yonder tree, gag his mouth, and leave him there. There will be little left of him in the morning except bare bones, and clever as the Feringhis are, they will find no mark of knife or bullet should they chance to come across what is left. Ye have the cords. Tie him up."

Tynan shouted for help until a cloth was bound over his mouth. Then the frenzy of despair lent him strength, but the struggle was short, and he was quickly pushed and pulled towards the tree indicated by Pir Baksh.

Something moved in the undergrowth behind, and a squat little man stepped into the light. A musket was in his hand, and a grin upon his hairless face. In an unknown tongue he addressed a question to the men who held the struggling Tynan, and being regarded with a stare of mingled amazement and terror, he peered into the face of the captive.

Then the grin died out of his face, for he saw the white skin of an Englishman and understood.

Again he jabbered in the strange language, then quick as thought he drew from its scabbard a curved knife, whose keen broad blade flashed thrice like a heliograph as it caught the slanting rays of the disappearing sun. The sepoys had let go their hold of Tynan, and had raised their muskets, but before the triggers could be pulled the vicious kukri blade had descended twice, and the traitors sank on the sward, cut through the shoulder.

Crack went the musket of Muhammad Baksh, and a bullet skimmed over the cap of the ugly little stranger. Before the echo had died away an answering report rang out, and as Muhammad Baksh paid the penalty of his treachery, a second Gurkha stepped from behind a tree-trunk within fifteen paces of Pir Baksh. The subadar turned and ran.

"Shoot, brother!" sang out the Gurkha, whose musket was empty.

The first-comer's weapon was already covering the runagate. He pulled the trigger, and when the smoke had rolled away, there lay the arch-traitor writhing upon the ground, alternately calling down curses upon the little mountain demons who had frustrated him, and calling upon the Englishman for mercy. Evidently he was not very badly wounded, or he could not have made so much noise.

The Gurkhas trotted towards him with bared knives, and though the Mohammedan still held his loaded musket the little hillmen never hesitated. Pir Baksh was consistent in his cowardice. Dropping the weapon he held up his hands in token of surrender, and called upon Tynan Sahib to save him from the fiends.

Harry Tynan had barely realized what had happened, and what a very narrow squeak he had had.

"Do not kill him!" he shouted in Urdu, as he limped towards the wounded savage. He wanted to see what Pir Baksh would have to say for himself before he handed him over to be hanged or blown away. The fact must be admitted that Tynan meant to gloat over the failure of the subadar's vile plans.