"It has a most horrid flavour," answered Jim, "but beggars must not be choosers. We have much to be thankful for, and particularly for these skins of wine, for they will keep us from thirst. And now tell me more about yourself, and of your life with these followers of the Mullah."
Making themselves comfortable upon the floor of the hut, the two sat close together and passed the remaining hours of the night in conversation, taking the precaution, however, to lower their tones till they were little above a whisper. Then, as the interior of the dwelling became lighter, and they could see their surroundings, they set to work in earnest to build a hiding-place. Fortunately there was ample material at hand, and as it lay at their feet, the task was soon completed. A search also quickly brought to light a dozen old guns, which had probably been made by some dishonest European for the special purpose of being sold to the Mullah. But, bad as they were, they were too valuable to be tossed aside with contempt. Therefore, having discovered a small store of powder and shot, the fugitives loaded them at once, cramming the weapons to the muzzle with slugs.
"That will do capitally," said Jim, surveying the work when it was finished. "These beggars can come right into the hut without suspecting that we are here, for this place shelters us. If they happen to find us, we shall give them a warm reception with the guns, though at any other time I should be sorry to be called upon to fire them, for they look as though they would burst at the slightest provocation."
"Beggars cannot be choosers," replied his comrade, with a laugh, repeating the words which Jim had used but a short while before. "If the enemy comes here with the intention of molesting us, I should fire fifty of the muzzle-loaders, and chance a burst with the greatest calmness. But we're ready for them now; and as we have a moment to look round, permit me to see what my young comrade is like. Up to this you have been more or less of a mystery, for since the morning dawned I have been too occupied to take stock of you."
Catching Jim by the arms, John Margetson turned him round till the two stood face to face, and then treated him to a long and curious stare.
"Yes," he said at last, finding that Jim returned his gaze without a sign of flinching, "a bold, high-mettled lad, filled with a feeling of duty. Shake hands!"
The request came so suddenly that Jim started, but the next second he clasped his companion warmly by the fingers, showing equal eagerness to return his good feeling.
"Straight and true, and sturdy to the backbone," continued Margetson. "I admire you, and I thank you for what you have done for me. Had it not been for you, I should still have been in my prison, a spiritless slave, doomed to lifelong serfdom. But now I am free—free, I tell you; and now that my liberty is regained, no one shall wrest it from me. I live to escape with you, to reach friends and old England again; or I die fighting for my life, my own master at the end."
He ended his impassioned words with another squeeze of Jim's hand, and then, as if to hide the evident excitement under which he laboured, turned towards the door, and, applying his eye to a crevice, stared out into the open. As for Jim, he was deeply impressed by his friend's speech, and followed him thoughtfully with his gaze. Then he, too, took post at an aperture, and sought to discover what was going on outside.
And meanwhile, what of Ali Kumar, and what of the numerous search-parties which had raced into the plain? Then, too, what fortune had befallen the troop of horsemen which had ridden from the village in search of Jim's camp?