"Who goes there?" came the challenge in the cursed foreign tongue. He gave one sharp glance towards the picket, and bitter hatred flared up within him; for there was not even a sahib there who might, perchance, understand. Yet there was no doubt, no doubt at all, even to his confused turmoil of feeling, as to "who came there." A foe! a foe to the death when this was over! So with a shout came his creed:
"Allah akbar wa Mahomed rusool."
Then in a sort of gurgle, as he fell forward on his face, it finished in "Deen! Deen! Deen!"
* * * * *
"Nicked 'im, by gum! Nicked the ole beast neat as a ninepin," said one of the picket.
"Wonder wot he come on for like that?" said another.
"B----y ole Ghazi, that's wot he was," put in a third. "They gets the drink aboard, an' don't care for nothing but religion--rummy start, ain't it? Hello! wot's that?--a babby, by the Lord!"
For the shock of Deen Mahomed's fall had awakened the child.
As they drew it from the blanket, the sun tipped over the tiger-grass, and fell on its golden curls.
Shub'rât was over.