Part 28 (1/2)

”Shah bash, brothers,” cried one as they swept past, ”we can breathe our beasts a bit at Begum-a-bad and let the others come up; no need to reach Delhi ere dawn. The Palace would be closed.”

Delhi! The Palace! And who were the others? That, if they were coming behind, could soon be settled. He turned the Belooch and trotted her back in the shadow, straining eyes and ears down the tree-fringed road which lay so still, so white, so silent.

Something was on it now, but something silent, almost ghost-like,--an old man, muttering texts, on a lame camel which b.u.mped along as even no earthly camel ought to b.u.mp. That could not be the ”others.”

No! Surely that was a thud, a jingle, a clatter once more. And once more the glitter of cold steel in the moonlight. Forty or fifty of the 3d this time, with stragglers calling to others still further behind, ”To Delhi! To Delhi! To Victory or Death!”

As he stood waiting for them all to pa.s.s ere he moved, his first thought was, that with all these armed men at Begum-a-bad there would be no chance of a remount. Then came a swift wonder as to what had happened. A row of some sort, of course, and these men had fled. Ere long, no doubt, a squadron of Carabineers would come rattling after them. No! That was not cavalry. That was infantry in the distance.

Quite a number of men shouting the same cry. Men of the 20th, to judge by what he could see. Then the row had been a big one. Still the men were evidently fugitives. There was that in their recurring cry which told of almost hopeless, reckless enthusiasm.

And how the devil was he to get his remount? It was to be at the serai on the roadside, the very place where these men would rest. Yet he must get to Delhi, he must get there sharp! The possibility that Delhi was unwarned did not occur to him; he only thought how he might best get there in time for the row which must come. Should he wait for the English troops to come up, and chance his remount being coolly taken by the first rebel who wanted one? Or, Delhi being not more than fifteen miles off across country, should he take the mare as far as she would go, leave her in some field, and do the rest on foot? He looked at his watch. Half-past one! Say five miles in half an hour.

The mare was good for that. Then ten miles, at five miles an hour. The very first glimmer of light should see him at the boat-bridge if--if the mare could gallop five miles.

He must try her a bit slowly at first. So, slipping across the broad, white streak of road to the Delhi side, he took her slanting through the tall tiger gra.s.s, for they were close on a nullah which must be forded by a rather deep ford lower down, since the bridge was denied to him. About half a mile from the road he came upon the track suddenly, in the midst of high tamarisk jungle growing in heavy sand, and the next moment was on the s.h.i.+ning levels of the ford. The mare strained on his hand, and he paused to let her have a mouthful of water. As she stood there, head down, a horseman at the canter showed suddenly, silently, behind him, not five yards away, his horse's hoofs deadened by the sand.

There was a nasty movement, an ominous click on both sides. But the moon was too bright for mistakes; the recognition was mutual.

”My G.o.d, Erlton!” he cried, as the other, without a pause, went on into the ford. ”What's up?”

”Is it fordable?” came the quick question, and as Jim Douglas for an answer gave a dig with his spurs, the Major slackened visibly; his eye telling him that the depth could not be taken, save at a walk.

”What's up?” he echoed fiercely. ”Mutiny! murder! I say, how far am I from Delhi?”

”Delhi!” cried Jim Douglas, his voice keen as a knife. ”By Heaven! you don't mean they don't know--that they didn't wire--but the troops----”

”Hadn't started when I left,” said the Major with a curse. ”I came on alone. I say, Douglas,” he gave a sharp glance at the other's mount and there was a pause.

”My mare's beat--been drugged,” said Jim Douglas in the swish-swish of the water rising higher and higher on the horses' b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and there was a curious tone in his voice as if he was arguing out something to himself. ”I've a remount at the serai, but the odds are a hundred to one on my getting it. I'd given up the chance of it. I meant to take the mare as many miles across country as she'd go--more, perhaps--for she feels like falling at a fence, and walk the rest. I didn't know then----” He paused and looked ahead. The water, up to the girths, made a curious rus.h.i.+ng sound, like many wings. The long, s.h.i.+ny levels stretched away softly, mysteriously. The tamarisk jungle reflected in the water seemed almost as real as that which edged the s.h.i.+ning sky. A white egret stood in the shallows; tall, ghostly.

”I thought it was only--a row.”

The voice ceased again, the breathings of the tired horses had slackened; there was no sound but that rus.h.i.+ng, as of wings, as those two enemies rode side by side, looking ahead. Suddenly Jim Douglas turned.

”You ride nigh four stone heavier than I do, Major Erlton.”

The heavy, handsome face came round swiftly, all broken up with sheer pa.s.sion.

”Do you suppose I haven't been thinking that ever since I saw your cursed face. And you know the country, and I don't. You know the lingo, and I don't. And--and--you're a deuce sight better rider than I am, d----n you! But for all that, it's my chance, I tell you. My chance, not yours.”

A great surge of sympathy swept through the other man's veins. But the water was shallowing rapidly. A step or two and this must be decided.

”It's yours more than mine,” he said slowly, ”but it isn't ours, is it? It's the others', in Delhi.”

Herbert Erlton gave an odd sound between a sob and an oath, a savage jag at the bridle as the little Arab, over-weighted, slipped a bit coming up the bank. Then, without a word, he flung himself from the saddle and set to work on the stirrup nearest him.

”How many holes?” he asked gruffly, as Jim Douglas, with a great ache in his heart, left the Belooch standing, and began on the other.