Their costume was as varied as their arms. One or two wore muslin coats, while others had only the waist cloth, being bare from their waists up. Their turbans were of different colors and shapes, from the gorgeous pile of muslin which decorated the head of the leader to a few yards of dirty rag that wound around the brow and crown of the poorest. One or two wore wooden shoes, with the soles curved and pointed upward in front. Some of the steeds were without saddles, and all the riders had jet black hair and eyes, savage mustaches, and scanty beards.
Luchman would have been glad had they gone by without stopping, for he knew their villainous nature only too well. The quickest way to arouse suspicion would have been to try to avoid them.
He therefore threw up his hand as a signal that he wanted to exchange a few words. They brought their ponies down from their brisk trot, and drew up close to him.
The parties who thus met were utter strangers to each other, but a glance at Luchman showed he was a native, and the presumption, therefore, was that he was a supporter of the revolt.
The fugitives crouching in the grove (with the exception of Avery) understood the conversation, which may be liberally translated:
"Ram, Ram, bhai (In Ram's name, brother); whence come you?" asked the leading Ghoojur.
"From Delhi."
"Why do you flee when there is so much loot to be gathered?"
"I have all I want; I leave the rest for my brothers."
"What have you done with your share?"