"Don't know.... Who are these?--oh! the Flamingoes, and there are the Probyn ruffians. We've done it very quietly."

A blurred mass appeared presently away to the right.

"Those will be the Lancers and the guns," Ted hazarded his opinion.

"Yes, there's no mistaking that music. Good old Horse Artillery!"

With joined forces the little flying column pushed forward at a trot, the pleasant clatter of hoofs and jingle and rattle of the guns forming an accompaniment, inspiring with its martial noise.

A flash of yellow light gleamed far away on the eastern horizon, as the metal upon one of the tall minarets of Lucknow caught the first rays, and the sun had risen. There before them lay the fortified village of Pindijang in the dip hollowed out by the shallow tributary running south-east to join the Granges. The place was walled, and they could see the black muzzles of cannon peeping from the embrasures. The neighbourhood was well wooded, affording good cover for sharp-shooters.

Colonel Boldre grumbled at his hard luck. Half an hour earlier and he could have taken the village by surprise. The fault was not his, for the map showed Pindijang as nine miles from Cawnpore. It had proved not less than a dozen, and would have to be taken by hard fighting, not by a _coup_.

He sent the Lancers with two of the horse-guns away to the right to cut off retreat in the direction of Lucknow, the Irregular Horse remaining concealed by a wood until the flanking party should be ready to co-operate. Ted and Claude stood watching the Englishmen ride off, admiring the gallant bearing of the splendid Bengal Horse Artillery, a corps that has given so many famous men to India. The lances of the cavalry flashed and glittered as the steel points caught the sun, making, with the picturesque trappings of the Artillery and the fascination of their guns, one of the bright and beautiful scenes of war. The other side of the picture was presently to be seen.

"We're quite on a hill here," said Ted. "I should not have thought the ground dipped so much. They're out of sight."

"There will be a stream to cross down there."

Presently a myriad flashing of tiny points of moving fire, like the facets of waves dancing in the sun, and the Lancers were seen emerging from the hollow and trotting up the slight incline. But the guns were not with them, for the wheels had sunk deep in the mud of the far bank.

A score of the Lancers had remained to help, while the remainder trotted across the plateau to cut off the retreat.

Suddenly a bank of smoke obscured the trunks of the trees, and the ranks of the Lancers seemed to break up, as the crash and rattle of musketry rang in the ears of the distant onlookers. Then were seen gaps and empty saddles and maddened horses. The officer in command, himself wounded, could be seen steadying his men, and, resisting the temptation to charge in among the trees, he drew them off rapidly and in good order, and brought them under cover, where they dismounted, and their carbines began to seek out the hidden pandies.

Colonel Boldre was visibly agitated. The sepoys had seen their approach and laid a trap, and, should they be strong enough to overwhelm the cavalry, the stuck guns would be lost.

He was about to give the order to support the Lancers, when there was heard a clang and a clatter and a rattle, and a whirl of dust was seen rushing up the slope, as though wind-impelled.

"B. H. A. for ever!" Ted exclaimed. "By George! they are going!"

The sound of firing so close at hand had put double strength into the backs of the gunners, and they tugged and pushed, and the plucky horses also heard the sound, and out of the mud came the guns. Mounting rapidly, the drivers cracked their whips and urged forward their teams of six good horses. The dust rose and enveloped them as they bounded along; then they wheeled, stopped sharply, and unlimbered.

Colonel Boldre's face relaxed, and he gave no command. The watchers saw the gunners busy as ants; then came a flash and a roar as a shell hurtled among the trees, and a second was in the air before the first had burst.

With hardly a pause a third and fourth shell exploded among the pandies, apparently with deadly effect. Their fire slackened, died down; they wavered, and another shell fell amongst them. Panic-stricken they streamed away towards the sheltering walls. The Lancers mounted their horses; the guns scattered another shell or two amid the fugitives, and, limbering up, rattled after them.

But the surprise had failed, and there was now little chance of capturing the arch-traitor. With poignant disappointment Colonel Boldre saw the troops pouring out of the village through the north-western gate, the exit farthest from them. He gave the word, and the Irregulars galloped away to their left front to cut them off.

Ted's Arab was both fleet and great-hearted, and he and Govind Singh were soon to the front, half a length in advance of the ragged line. It was a race, not a charge, and Ted remembered with a smile how he had once guided "The Padre" to victory. The pace of the runaways was checked by the river which, bending from the north-east, looped round the western and southern sides of the village, leaving only the eastern side open, and _there_ were the British Lancers, now quite near to the walls. Close behind him Ted could hear the jingle of a gun and the mad galloping of its team, tearing the big weapon along with jolt and clatter. Few sights are there to surpass horse artillery galloping into action, and few sounds more musical; and the noble horses seem inspired thereby, and enter into the spirit of the movement with a zest as great as that of the men.

They were now level with the ghaut, or ford, and a few hundred yards to the west thereof. The guns unlimbered, and, after sending a couple of shells after the leading fugitives who had made good their escape, they opened on the ghaut and got range with the second shot. More than half the pandies were checked; on the one side were English cavalry and a couple of those deadly guns, on the other the only way of escape was a death-trap. Colonel Boldre despatched a body of Probyn's Horse and of his own men under Claude to ride down to the ghaut and take charge of the prisoners. The rest continued in the track of the Nana.

Ted, Govind Singh, and a handful of the better-mounted men had kept on their way without a pause, and they quickly perceived that they were overhauling the sepoys, the hindmost of whom presently began to scatter across the fields and swampy ground, making for the woods and jungle.

And after them went most of the pursuers.

But Ted and Govind Singh with some of their Jalandar men kept straight ahead. They had noticed that amongst the runagates who had stuck to the road were two or three men of consequence, to judge by their costumes and the caparisons of their steeds. And some instinct told our ensign that he in the middle of the group, decked out in a conspicuous saffron shawl, with a glittering turban, was none other than the Nana himself.

Heedless of all other considerations he urged his handful onward, speeding farther and farther away from the main body, intent only on slaying or capturing the Mahratta ruffian.

They were now within a hundred yards of their quarry, and almost up with the laggards, some of whom broke away into the paddy-fields, while those who were not quick enough received short shrift from Govind Singh's compatriots. With hardly a pause the Punjabis again swept forward, their number reduced by one. As they lessened the distance separating them from the rear-guard a couple of pandies swiftly swerved aside, off the track, and fired as the Sikhs, unprepared for the manoeuvre, flew past in a bunch. The sowar on the right of Govind Singh reeled in his saddle and then his horse shot to the front, relieved of its burden, and Ted noticed that a second of his men winced, let his carbine fall, and clapped a hand to his side.

"Forward!" shouted the young officer as the men began to pull on the reins. "Forward! Never mind those two; there's a big reward for him who catches that saffron fellow in front!"

With much reluctance the Punjabis allowed the two pandies to continue their flight unmolested. The chieftain and his body-guard were within pistol-shot, and Ted fired twice, and unhorsed the sepoy who rode next to the leader, at whom he had aimed. And suddenly the rebels turned and with savage yells charged back upon their pursuers. Ted again aimed at the leader and again missed, and the Nana's men were upon them, three to one.

With a yell as savage as theirs Govind Singh rose in his stirrups and felled his nearest opponent with one mighty blow, and, leaning forward, buried his tulwar in the shoulder of another. Before he could recover his blade a lance was thrust into his breast, and he dropped like a log.

Ted saw the fall of his right-hand man, and was near enough to cut down the striker just as another of the mutineers rode full tilt at him.

The lance-point grazed his tunic, and he caught the shaft under his arm-pit, gave the pandy his point, and went forward, straight for the man with the saffron shawl, who was keeping well in the background. He cut at the villain's head, but a tulwar interposed, caught his blade, and snapped it off at the hilt. And at this moment, when the superior strength and size and courage of the Punjabis were barely enabling them to hold their own, the two pandies who had escaped had now wheeled round and charged to the aid of their comrades, taking Ted's two or three unexpectedly in the rear and deciding the issue.

A tremor of cold fear ran through our hero's frame as he found himself armed only with a useless sword-hilt wherewith to defend himself. The vile Mahratta raised his pistol, and, at a distance of three paces, fired point blank at the lad's breast. Ted Russell's career would have ended then and there had not his Arab, at the very moment that the trigger was pulled, trodden on the edge of a naked blade. The horse reared, received the bullet in its head, and rolled over dead, almost crushing its rider.

One Sikh and one only of the reckless few who had galloped in the wake of Ted and Govind Singh remained alive, and he was unhorsed and fighting valiantly on foot. He hacked his way to the rescue of his officer, and wounded the pandy who, having disarmed Ted, was about to deal a finishing blow. Then he in his turn was laid low. Ted still had his revolver; raising himself on his elbow he took aim at the Nana, who instantly set spurs to his horse, and his two surviving retainers followed his example. But Ted had the Mahratta rajah covered. Filled with exultation at the thought that the murderer was at last at his mercy he pulled the trigger.

There was no report, and he realized with a heavy heart that the weapon's chambers were all empty, that the arch-traitor had escaped, and that he was helpless!

He rose and looked about him, and a reaction of thankfulness followed the bitter disappointment as the thought stole upon him that he had escaped with no injury more serious than a scratch or two. He perceived that it was lucky that his enemies, as well as he himself, had been under the impression that the revolver was still loaded. What would have been his fate had they known the truth?

He began to search for Govind Singh's body. The veteran risaldar had ceased to breathe; he had died as he would have wished, fighting against odds. The boy had come to regard his grim old comrade with an affection that had been returned by the risaldar. The other Sikhs were also all dead, so fierce had been the hand-to-hand combat; and of the Nana's following at least a dozen were slain or were dying. One of the latter, a youngster barely sixteen, was regarding the Feringhi with eyes in which hatred and a desire to propitiate struggled mutely for mastery.

Ted divined the meaning of that look and hastened to hand his water-bottle to the sufferer, who greedily gulped the water down and regarded his benefactor with gratitude.

"Tell me," said Ted, "who was he with the saffron shawl?"

"That was the Rajah of Bithur," replied the wounded lad.

With a glance of regret towards the good Arab that had served him so well, Ted mounted Govind Singh's horse, which was standing beside its dead master, and sped away to rejoin his comrades, some of whom could be seen in the distance returning from the chase. Colonel Boldre had many prisoners and several guns to show as the result of the daur, but the main object of the expedition had escaped.

"I was afraid you had been killed, Russell," said he.

"I've lost Govind Singh, the risaldar, and a good many men, sir, and we just missed the Nana. He unhorsed me, and I should have shot him if I'd had the sense to reserve a bullet for him."

"Unhorsed you? Dundu Pant himself?" exclaimed the commandant.

Ted reported the affair, and Colonel Boldre, uncertain whether to praise or blame, remained deep in thought.

"You had a narrow squeak," said he at last.

CHAPTER XXVIII

The Final Scene at Lucknow

Lieutenant Boldre lolled back in his camp-chair and smiled a superior smile, while Ted Russell scratched his head and gazed with puzzled expression at the carved pieces upon the chess-board.

It was undoubtedly checkmate, and he asked himself, almost angrily, how on earth he could have allowed himself to be outmanoeuvred and surrounded, and his communications cut off, in so absurdly simple a manner. Now that it was too late to avert defeat, he could clearly see how his opponent's attack could have been met and repulsed.

"You've licked me this time," he acknowledged. "I'm playing like an _oont_ this morning."