The coast was now clear, and the couchant native in the jungle grass rose upright with a quickness that would have startled the bravest man. Then, without pause or hesitation, he walked to the steed, which probably took him for the syce who had just left, for he merely raised his head, and then resumed grazing.
A rope around his neck was fastened to a stake, a rod or so distant, so that he had all the pasturage needed.
Without stopping to untie the thong, Luchman cut it with his knife, and the pony was at his disposal. Wana Affghar sported a large saddle, which he must have stolen. A minute later Luchman had mounted, and turned the head of the steed away.
The guide had reached a point where it may be said he would have been justified in dismissing all thought of the Ghoojurs, when he checked the animal.
"I have stolen him," he muttered with a feeling akin to dismay, "and though Wana Affghar is my enemy, I have no right to do this thing."
He was holding audience with his conscience.
It did not last long. He wheeled about, rode back, refastened the horse to the stake, and started off again in a much happier frame of mind, since he carried the approval of the inward monitor with him.
During this little by play the Ghoojurs had made search for the native whose death Wana Affghar had commanded, but he was safely beyond their reach, even while still in the vicinity of the camp fire.
Looking up in the moonlit sky, Luchman gave fervent thanks to his Heavenly Father for His protection and care.
"They are far on their way to Kurnal," was his thought of his loved friends; "they have had more than four hours' start; they have walked fast, though the night is very warm. They must be almost a dozen miles on the road; I shall have to hasten, for the distance is long, but I hope to reach them by sunrise."