"Well," observed Ted with disgust, "if that chap ain't poisoned he deserves to be purified. Ugh! drinking that filth!"

"He keeps looking at us," said Alec. "I wonder what he wants."

"No good, I'll be bound. He's praying now."

The devotee came to the bank and began to smear himself with holy mud, facing in turn north, east, south, and west. A number of Hindus were now in the water, but none was so devout as he, whom the others watched in respectful admiration. Quite suddenly he raised his arm on high, and, fixing the two with his rolling eyes, he cursed them aloud. Pretending not to notice, the boys turned away, but the _yogi_ ran after them, the holy water dripping from his hair and body as he ran.

Calling them to halt, he fired off another volley of curses in a high shrill voice, greatly to the delight of his co-religionists. He called heaven to witness that he hated the unclean Feringhi, and vowed that destruction would come upon them suddenly unless they gave heed to him and returned to their own country.

By this time the yogi had approached within a pace or two of the lads, who were quickly walking away from the scene, and fifty yards to the rear followed admiring groups. The yogi leaned his head forward, spitting forth his curses, and then ostentatiously drew a knife from the folds of his loincloth, and changed his tone in a most unexpected manner.

"Take me prisoner! Quick, sahibs!" he hurriedly whispered. "I have news for you. Your pistols, quick!" and then he made pretence to strike at the nearer boy.

Alec was the quicker to act. He whipped out his revolver, and, springing towards the yogi, who had recoiled, placed the muzzle against his head. The group of Hindus howled with rage.

"Come along, you rebel dog!" Alec shouted in Urdu. "Well see how you like being shot out of a cannon."

"That's right," whispered the yogi encouragingly, and aloud he shrieked appeals to his gods to destroy the Englishmen. Ted had now hold of one of the strange fellow's arms, and together they dragged him along, he making pretence to resist.

"What do you want?" Alec whispered.

"I am loyal, but I am suspected, and there are spies perhaps watching even now. If I had come to the English camp with the news, or even spoken to you in a friendly manner, I might have lost my life. Three times have I performed _puja_ here in the hope of a chance of speaking to an English officer unsuspected. My news is that Dundu Pant of Bithur is at Pindijang. Now let me wrest myself free, and you must chase me."

"How can we know that your news is true?" asked Ted dubiously.

"Ask Lawson Sahib if he will believe Pancham Tewari. He will know."

An adroit twist and wrench and the yogi was free and running down the road. Ted fired--and missed--and Alec followed suit, both taking care not to hit the man. The onlookers howled with delight at the supposed discomfiture of the Feringhis, and the yogi turned and cursed them afresh, and the boys judged it best to retire when they saw the mob pick up stones and advance to protect the holy man.

"We'd better clear away," said Alec. "I know Major Lawson; he'll tell whether the man is genuine."

"Hope his news is true. It'll be a feather in our caps if we help to catch the Nana. Where is Pindijang?"

"No idea. It's rather a fishy business altogether, and I'm afraid it's a trap."

"I shouldn't be surprised," Ted replied. "I hope not, though, for it may be a great score for us if we help to catch the ruffian."

They lost no time in reaching camp, and Alec led the way to Major Lawson's quarters, where they told the story of the encounter with the mysterious yogi, and how they had been referred to him for a character.

"Pancham Tewari is to be trusted," said the major. "He's an old friend of mine, and he loves the Nana Sahib about as much as we do, for the scoundrel has dispossessed the Tewari family of their lands by fraud some time ago, and Pancham would do anything to get even with him. I'll see this matter through. Not a word to a soul, mind."

They kept their own counsel, and had heard no more about the matter when they turned in for the night. But Ted Russell felt sure that something was in the air, and could hardly sleep for excitement. He dreamt that he was engaged in hand-to-hand conflict with a yogi, who quite casually changed to the infamous Rajah of Bithur, and, emerging from the bed of the Ganges, chased him for many miles, finally tripping him up; whereupon Ted caught him by the throat, and the murderer began to groan.

He awoke and listened. Surely someone was groaning close at hand! Alec had of late been sharing his tent, and he stretched out his hand and groped for his chum.

"What's wrong?" came a growl.

"Listen!"

"It is only the silly camels warbling. Go to sleep."

"So it is. You can whiff 'em, too! We get too much camel here. I wish the wind 'ud change."

The camel, that useful but detested animal, grunts and grumbles all night long, and the soldier blesses him in picturesque language. The fact that, moreover, "'e smells most awful vile" does not tend to increase his popularity.

"I wish you wouldn't spoil my beauty-sleep whenever you have a nightmare," Paterson sleepily grumbled, as he rolled over and became blissfully unconscious.

But Ted was restless and could not sleep. The camels kept up their serenade until he longed to sally forth with a whip. Presently a footstep was heard outside and the tent-flaps parted. Ted rose to a sitting posture and laid hold of his pistol.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

"'For Valour'!" came the cool reply. "Why, my V.C. winner, you're as frightened as a babu! Get up! we're going on a daur."

It was Claude Boldre. Giving Alec a joyous kick, Ted hurriedly dressed and went out. The sun had not yet risen, but the camp was fitfully lighted by the wood-fires, around which half-clad native servants squatted and shivered. Others were running to and fro, aimlessly to all appearance, and the horses had begun to neigh. Away to the right he could make out against the walls of white canvas the dark forms of Govind Singh and Hira Singh superintending the preparations of their men.

"Come along, Ted, and have some breakfast," said Claude, appearing from behind the tents. "Your horse is being looked after. We start in half an hour."

Linking his arm in Ted's he marched him into the colonel's tent, calling to Paterson to follow. As they entered, Colonel Boldre looked up from his map, nodded, and motioned towards the breakfast-table. The coffee-pot was steaming thereon, and the boys did not hesitate. The tent was not more than a dozen feet square, and there was only one spare chair. Claude sat on the pallet-bed and Ted on a trunk.

"Are we going to Pindijang?" asked the latter, "and if so, where is it?"

"Why!" exclaimed the colonel in surprise, "how did you know?"

Ted and Alec laughed.

"This is our daur, colonel. Didn't you know?"

"Your daur! What on earth do you mean?"

"We brought the news last night that the Nana was there," Alec replied.

"We had it from a spy."

Colonel Boldre regarded them with interest.

"You never told me," said Claude.

"We were told to keep it quiet," said Ted.

"Quite right!" observed their commandant. "Pindijang is about nine miles away, and this is to be a cavalry affair. Our fellows are going, with a detachment of Hodson's and Probyn's, and a squadron of the 9th Lancers, and a troop of Horse Artillery."

"The pater's in command," whispered Claude.

"I congratulate you, colonel," said Alec promptly.

In came Major Lawson, and the boys cleared out. The wild-looking men of Boldre's Horse had broken their fast and were eager for the fray, chattering in groups, discussing the probable destination, and hazarding all kinds of wild conjectures. A few moments later without any sound of bugles, the regiment was in the saddle and trotting away to the north-west.

Paterson sorrowfully watched them depart, for he had not obtained permission to accompany the force.

"Where are the others?" Ted enquired of Claude.