The three men, Gunga Ram, Ya’kub, and Isa Das, soon reached their place of labour,—a rice-field which bordered on a great river. On the other side of the broad waters they could see the bungalow to which Manton Sahib had come but the week before. It was a large well-built bungalow with white pillars, and was partly hidden by the mango-trees and the tall palm-trees which grew in the compound around it.
“See!” cried Gunga Ram, pointing towards the river; “there is some one on horseback trying to cross the waters.”
“It is a stranger; he knows not the ford,” said Isa Das.
“If he wish not to be carried away by the stream,” observed Ya’kub, “he must turn his horse’s head more to the right.”
Isa Das lifted up his voice and shouted, “To the right—to the right!” Perhaps the stranger did not hear him; or hearing, paid no heed to the warning of a poor ryot.
“It is Manton Sahib himself,” exclaimed Gunga Ram; “I know him by the red beard and long hair.”
“He will be drowned,” said Ya’kub. “See! his horse has lost his footing already, and is plunging madly into the midst of the foaming waters. The Sahib will be carried away by the current, and drowned!”
“Let us hasten to his help!” cried Isa Das; “we know the ford well, and could find it even on a starless night.”
“And we can swim like ducks,” added Ya’kub.