"Only a rebel escaping with his goods and family," said he; "but we may as well slay them, sahib, for without doubt they deserve it."

"Not so, Hira Singh. Let us speak them fair. We cannot tell who they are."

There were two curtained _gharris_ or carts, each drawn by two soft-eyed bullocks. Protecting these rode three horsemen, who now stood awaiting the onslaught, two with levelled muskets, the third with drawn sword. It was evident that the gharris contained their womenfolk, as for nothing less would they have stood their ground against fifty.

Crack! Crack! At two hundred yards' distance they had fired into the cloud of dust, and a bullet struck Ted just below the heart. He doubled forward with the pain, nearly losing his grip, and the bullet quietly dropped upon the saddle. He glanced at his tunic; there was not a tear, and he slowly realized that he was still alive. The bullet was spent, and it had struck him with no more force than a thrown stone of the same size. He was hurt, but not injured.

Hira Singh's lance was couched again, and the horses were at the gallop.

The shots had roused the fierce Sikh blood, and it would have gone hard with the horsemen had not Ted sufficiently recovered his wits, and, spurring his Arab to the front, had called upon the ressaidar to pull up his horse to a walk.

He was puzzled that the three should have stood their ground so valiantly when escape would have been easy, and he did not mean to suffer friends to be slain. Besides, the carts probably contained women, who would not be safe from the fury of his wild levies once they had tasted blood. He caught Hira Singh's bridle and shouted the command to halt, and the troop pulled up about thirty paces from the daring wayfarers. Ted rode out in front of his men.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Instantly the strangers lowered their loaded muskets, and the handsome old man in the centre took his sword by the blade and held the hilt towards the Englishman.

"Allah give you victory, sahib!" said the old man, stroking his gray beard with nervous fingers. "I thought ye were budmashes who had cut us off. I did not see that thou wast a Feringhi until this moment."

"We hope that no man was hurt by our shots," added the youngest of the three, a slight but muscular and well-made man, twenty years of age perhaps. There was something in his appearance that took Ted's fancy--a dignified bearing and demeanour.

"But what do ye here?" asked our lieutenant, "and why should ye fire at strangers?"

"I am Yusuf Khan of Paniwar, and these are my sons. In the bullock-gharris are our womenfolk. We have fled from our home through fear of the anger of the rebels. Know then, young sahib, that I have raised my voice on the side of our alien rulers, warning and advising our young men to abstain from acts of madness. The stain of blood is not on my hands."

He stretched out his open palms as he spoke. There was an honest ring in the old man's voice, and his eye was open and steady.

"It is true," said Ramzan Khan, the younger son. "We have remained loyal to the Sirkar."

"I am from Paniwar," continued the old Mohammedan, "but for years I was surveyor with Henry Lawrence Sahib, from Gorakhpur to Allahabad, and I swore that his people should be as my people, and that for his sake would I help any Feringhis who might be in need. He was my master and my true friend, and I loved him."

The fierce-eyed Govind Singh walked his horse to the side of Yusuf Khan and looked him between the eyes.

"So thou art also Larens Sahib's man?" he chuckled. "I also. Thou art an eater of beef and I an accursed infidel, yet for that we are bound by the same ties to the same master--we are brothers. Dost thou believe that he is dead?"

"Aye, I know that he is dead, alas!"

"Thou art a faint-hearted disciple, old man. He lives, I say.... Well, tell me thy story."

The Mohammedan turned once more to the English officer and continued:

"The men, and the women also--and their abuse was the harder to bear--taunted me, called me an unbeliever and a renegade, a taker of English gold, because that I opposed the hot-heads. And then it came to pass that I did that which caused all my neighbours to hate me. We found--I and my sons--a small party of English men and women wandering about the jungle, having escaped the fate of their murdered countrymen, and we guided them safely into Agra Fort. All would have been well had I not foolishly given my name to an Englishman who asked for it, and their gratitude led them to recommend me to government for a reward. But for that my neighbours would never have known.

"And this is the reward, that we have been stoned and our lives threatened, and to save ourselves from worse we left home last night with what valuables we could bring away, and set forth for Agra."

"But," objected Ted, "you are going towards Delhi, not Agra."

The old man turned and pointed backwards.

"Over there," said he, "half an hour's walk away, our road from Paniwar joins the Agra-Delhi road, and we turned to the right instead of to the left in order to escape our pursuers. For my son, Ramzan Khan, had lingered near the village to see if we should be followed. We had a few hours' start before we were missed, and, guessing whither we were journeying, a number of the rascals followed, some on horseback, others on foot. With bullocks we cannot travel at more than a snail's pace, and we were unable to procure horses for the carts, so capture was certain.

But Ramzan Khan, having a very swift horse, overtook us just after we had turned into the Agra road. Hearing the news that he brought, we tried to throw them off the scent by facing about towards Delhi instead of going on to Agra."

"I came much quicker than the budmashes," put in Ramzan Khan. "Some of them were on foot, and the horsemen were trotting slowly to allow the runners to keep up with them, thinking that they could not fail to overtake the bullocks."

"What, then, do ye intend to do?" asked Govind Singh. A trooper to whom he had been whispering dismounted, and, leaving the dusty road, stole forward under cover of the trees and undergrowth.

"Allah knows," replied Yusuf Khan. "Perchance, having picked up our trail, they will ride on in their haste towards Agra without taking further notice of the tracks we leave in the dust. If so, we may hide until the danger is past. If, however, they notice that we have doubled back, all will soon be over unless ye choose to help us. When we fired we thought ye were the very sons of Shitan themselves, who had worked round and cut us off."

"Ah!" said Hira Singh reprovingly, "that was not a soldierly thing to do, to fire before making sure."

"But," said the stranger, "did we not see you charging upon us with spears and swords?"

"He is right," said Ted, with a laugh at Hira Singh's expense. "Why, ressaidar, didst thou not wish to slay them all without stopping to make sure?"

Rishan Chand, a Dogra, stepped forward with a suggestion.

"Let the women descend from the carts," said he, "and place some of us inside, and let the bullocks retrace their steps. The troopers and you, sahib, keep out of sight, but near enough to aid. Then when the budmashes come, the zamindar (farmer or yeoman) and his sons, and the drivers, can pretend to run away and leave the women at the mercy of the rebels. Then shall we surprise them when they peer in through the curtains, and before they can escape ye should be upon them."

"The Dogra has sense," said Hira Singh. "Let it be so, sahib."

"If the zamindar approve, it shall be done. What sayest thou, Yusuf Khan?"

"It is good; all except that we should run away, I and my sons. We do not run from jackals."

"Nay, but they will suspect otherwise," Ted explained. "And if ye resist they will fire at you and at the carts, and all will be spoiled. Ye must consent to play the coward."

"Sahib, it is for me to obey you," said the zamindar.

The three refugees walked their horses to the side of the conveyances, from behind whose curtains veiled faces were already peeping in anxious bewilderment; and presently an elderly dame and three younger ones descended and were led by the elder son--a married man--into the shelter of the bushes. Sikhs and Dogras began to peer inside the vehicles, and two of the former jumped in. But Govind Singh was too quick for them.

"Outside, dogs!" he shrilled. "Put back that which ye have stolen. Are there not enough enemies from whom to steal that ye must rob friends, and one who has served with Larens Sahib? Outside, I say!"

Inside the carts was strewn in confusion as much of the old Mohammedan's portable property as could be put together in their haste. Abashed, the Sikhs dropped the few ornaments they had seized, and came out with sullen, crest-fallen expressions.

"Ho, zamindar!" called the risaldar. "Wilt thou or one of thy sons go in this cart to see that naught is stolen? Our men are thieves; they are but recruits who know no better."

"Nay," replied the old man, with simple dignity. "Ye are my friends. If they save my honour, I do not grudge them my goods."

"If so much as the value of an anna is taken," said Ted sternly, "the thief shall answer it. Let three or four of the Dogras get in each cart; they ate smaller than ye Sikhs, and will have more room to aim. Tumble in!"

"Hide, you rascals, hide!" broke in Govind Singh abruptly. He pointed eastward, whence the scout was running towards them, in and out among the tree-trunks, gesticulating as he ran.

"He is signalling us to take cover," continued the risaldar. "Sons of owls, disappear among the bushes before ye are seen! Inside the carts, ye Dogras! Quick!"

The Dogras squeezed inside and drew the curtains across; and in a moment all the troopers had disappeared, leaving Ted, Govind Singh, and the two Mohammedans beside the carts to await the scout.

"They are within sight from up there," he informed them. "I climbed a tree and saw the dust they raised. They come at a trot, and will soon be here."

"What shall we do, sahib?" asked the zamindar. "We obey thy orders."