"We forget. Ted Russell never accused Tynan of cowardice. That was Ambar Singh."

"But Ted did not deny it," said Munro, "and he ought to have done so.

But when asked, he did state implicitly that the suggestion was wholly his. Either he or Tynan is lying. We must have a full enquiry, and meanwhile Tynan must be treated as 'not guilty' of cowardice."

"My humble opinion," said Leigh thoughtfully, "is that I'd believe Ted Russell's word against Tynan's oath. I don't understand it."

Had he seen Dwarika Rai's cheerful nod, as, returning to the men's quarters, he passed Ensign Tynan, he might have understood it better.

The havildar was a brave and loyal fellow, but he was a Hindu with a Hindu's respect for truth. Tynan, returning after the first interview with his superior officers, had almost run into Dwarika Rai as he entered the men's quarters. The surprise was great on both sides.

"I'm done for," was the first thought of our unscrupulous ensign. "This fellow will knock my tale on the head." His next was: "Why not bribe him to confirm what I have said?"

No one was looking on; he drew the Rajput aside into the orderly-room from which he had just emerged, and offered him a big bribe to bear false witness. The sepoy was greatly in want of money. In common with so many others of his class, the fields owned and tilled by many generations of his forbears were hopelessly mortgaged to the money-lending parasites, the curse of Hindustan. Here a sum was offered that might redeem them, and save his family from disgrace and ruin.

He hesitated. Would his evidence injure Russell Sahib? Tynan assured him it would not, he simply wanted a share of the credit for himself; and the Rajput consented. Tynan warned him what questions would be asked, and coached him to give suitable replies. He cunningly advised him not to appear too eager, and not to pretend to know too much, the chief points being that Pir Baksh was to be absolved, and that he, Tynan, was to have a share of the credit attached to the destruction of the magazine. The sharp-witted Hindu quickly understood his part, and improved upon his teacher's suggestions.

"It will do Russell Sahib no harm," he reflected.

Tynan then warned him that when they should meet in the room they were both to express the utmost amazement, and Dwarika Rai nodded in acquiescence.

He thoroughly earned his pay, as Tynan discovered when he rejoined his comrades.

CHAPTER XX

An Adventure on the Ridge

The attacks on the Ridge outposts had become less frequent and less dangerous, though the cannonade was as brisk as ever.

Early on the morning following the receipt of the amazing news from Aurungpore, Ted Russell of the Hindu Rao picket was roughly aroused from slumber. All was hurry and scurry as company after company of the Guides and Rifles ran to the assistance of the Gurkhas, who were bearing the brunt of a cleverly-designed attack by ten times their number. Jim, Alec, and Ted raced to the scene of action, arriving just in time to pursue the already defeated foe.

"Charlie means to have that rag," Ted panted to his chum, as they raced side by side.

Shouting, "Follow me, lads!" Dorricot had made a dash for the colours of a rebel regiment, and was rapidly overhauling the flying standard-bearer, a score of mixed-up Rifles, Guides, and Gurkhas following as best they could. The fight and pursuit were being carried on over a great extent of ground, and only the few in Dorricot's immediate neighbourhood knew what was taking place. Seeing that the pursuers were so few in number, a large body of the enemy interposed between the officer and his followers, barring their progress. Charles Dorricot broke through, cut down the colour-bearer, grasped the standard, beat back his assailants, and for a few moments cleared a space around him. But what could one man do against so many? Before help could come Dorricot was beaten to his knees, sorely wounded, though still attempting to defend himself.

He collapsed, a sword-thrust through his breast, just as Corporal Thompson, a huge rifleman, forced his way through the mob by sheer strength and weight and judicious use of the butt-end. In the wake of the corporal came Motiram Rana, a Gurkha, and Hassan Din of the Guides, but, as they got through, the rebels closed up again behind them, baffling the efforts of Ted and his men to follow. Whether their officer was dead or wounded the three knew not; they meant to guard his body with their own. At bay they stood back to back--representatives of the three regiments that had held the Ridge--and, facing them, the rebels snarled like a pack of wolves around a wounded lion. Those behind pressed on those in front, and sepoy after sepoy fell before the weapons of the dauntless three, the Englishman trusting to the butt, the Pathan to the bayonet, and Motiram Rana, of course, to his patron saint, the kukri. The rifle in the Gurkha's left hand was still loaded. Using the weapon as a pistol, the little man pulled the trigger, and the bullet passed through two pandies at least. Having now more room, the gigantic Thompson swung his rifle round and round and up and down like a flail, and cleared a breathing space. The stock broke into splinters, but before the mutineers could get in he snatched a musket, cracked the owner's head, and the pandies again recoiled.

"He's down!" Ted gasped. "At 'em, Guides!"

He and Alec with their Guides around them were pushing and thrusting and smiting their way through the opposing crowd, the pandies on this portion of the sloping ground having rallied round their standard.

Suddenly the mob bulged in close by where they fought, as a pricked tennis-ball when squeezed; and amid a babel of shrill yells and jabberings in an unknown tongue, a lane was opened up. A Gurkha corporal had passed the word that Dorricot was down, and, collecting a couple of dozen furious men, had charged at their head. The vicious kukris flashed and flickered and bit deep, and the sepoys fell to right and left of that living wedge of Himalayans. Behind them Ted and Alec, Guides and Riflemen, found their way, and the sepoys broke and fled.

Ted was quickly beside his fallen cousin, and gave a little cry of joy on finding that Charlie still breathed. The cry was echoed by the Gurkhas, who started in pursuit now they were assured of their officer's safety, but Ted restrained them. Dorricot's hand still grasped the colours for whose capture he had risked so much, for which he might yet have to pay with his life.

Ted signed to the Gurkhas to help him carry back their wounded officer.

Motiram Rana proffered his aid, but Thompson motioned him back, saying:

"Tha needs carryin' thysen, Johnny; tha'rt bleedin' like a stuck pig."

Up came Major Reid, bringing his men forward at the double from another part of the battle-field where the enemy's rout had been complete. His face fell as he caught sight of his sorely-stricken comrade.

"The rash fellow!" exclaimed the commandant. "He had no right to push the pursuit so far with such a handful. I cannot spare Dorricot. Carry him gently; and you, Paterson, run and bring a doctor to the house."

Right glad was Ted, and hardly less glad were the Gurkhas, when the doctor promised hope in spite of no fewer than four sword or bayonet wounds.

"I have not an unwounded officer left, youngster!" exclaimed Major Reid dolefully. "Would you care to serve with me again?"

"There's nothing I should like better, sir." And then the boy paused.

"Except that I should be sorry to leave the Guides."

"Well, go to Daly; he's better off for officers than I am, and ask if he'll transfer you for a few days."

Ted obeyed. Permission was granted, and he again found himself with the Sirmuris.

There were scenes in camp of a less tragic nature witnessed daily by our two ensigns from Aurungpore. The peculiar methods of fraternizing adopted by the British riflemen and the Asiatics of the Guide Corps and Sirmur Battalion provided plenty of amusement for the onlookers. The Gurkhas soon picked up a smattering of English, and a few began to speak the language fairly well, whilst on the other hand the English riflemen gave vent to their feelings in words which they imagined were Hindustani. "Good-morning!" the little men would say with a cheerful grin; and the riflemen, not to be outdone, would reply: "Ram Ram, Johnny Gurkha! Ram Ram!"

Mixed groups would gather after any severe fighting to discuss the conflict and the conduct of the various regiments engaged, amid roars of laughter at the interpreter's attempts to translate the remarks. They were, indeed, the best of comrades; for brave men, of whatever race or creed, cannot but admire one another.

One evening in early August, Ted and Alec, after a long visit to poor Dorricot, joined their good friend Jemadar Goria Thapa, who was sitting on the shady side of the house-fortress watching the men larking. He gave the new-comers a welcoming grin.

"Good little man is Goria," whispered Ted. "We may as well sit by him.

Those chaps are enjoying themselves, ain't they? Ram Ram, Jemadar Sahib!"

Goria Thapa returned the greeting, and enquired after the health of his wounded officer and friend.

"He's doing splendidly, thanks! He must be as strong as a horse and as fit as a--what's the native for fiddle, Alec?"

"Dunno; call it a tom-tom. Are you having a good time, Jemadar Sahib, or do you wish you were back in Nepal?"

Goria Thapa grinned broadly.

"I like it," said he simply.

"Hullo, Paterson!" broke in Claude Boldre, who had just strolled up.

"How's your cousin, Russell? I came to ask after him."

"Doing finely considering, thanks! Look at these chaps. They're as fond of horse-play as a lot of kids."

It was certainly an amusing scene, and though the merest clowning, even this kind of fooling serves to keep men in good spirits and temper.

The corporal, Thompson, who had carried the wounded Dorricot out of the fight, stood 6 feet 4-1/2 inches in his stockings, and was perhaps the biggest man in the Delhi force. The men were sitting about in groups playing practical jokes, and Thompson caught hold of Karbir Burathoki, the smallest Gurkha there, a lad under five feet high, and led him to an open space within sight of the others. He there offered to teach the Gurkha how to box, and Karbir quickly entered into the joke. Both pulled off their jackets, and the Gurkha's face was entirely hidden by his grin. The difference in build between the two men was too much for the spectators, who shouted and yelled--"Go it, little 'un!" "Jump up and 'it 'im in the face!" "Fetch a step-ladder!" "Now, corpril, go on your knees and give 'im a chanst!"

After a lot of preliminary feinting and puffing and blowing and striking high above the Gurkha's head, the giant began to retire backwards, Karbir following amidst roars of laughter, the Nepalese spectators being quite as delighted as their English comrades.

At length Thompson caught hold of the little man and held him in the air, kicking and shrieking in pretended wrath. As the corporal put the little Himalayan down, he laughingly remarked: "Na, Johnny, tha con haud me up like if tha wants thee revenge."