And Hodson of Hodson's Horse back at Alipore slept late, for he lingered, weary and wet after his long ride, to write to his wife ere turning in, that "if he had had a hundred of the Guides he could have gone right up to the city wall."
But Mohammed Ismail slept peacefully, his work being over, and dreamed of Paradise.
[CHAPTER III.]
THE CHALLENGE.
"For Gawd's sake, sir! don't say I'm unfit for dooty, sir," pleaded a lad, who, as he stood to attention, tried hard to keep the sharp shivers of coming ague from the doctor's keen eyes. "I'm all right, aint I, mates? It aint a bad sort o' fever at worst, as I oughter know, havin' it constant. It's go ter hell, an' lick the blood up fust as I'm fit for with Jack Pandy. That's all the matter--you see if it aint, sir!"
He threw his fair curly head back, his blue eyes blazed with the coming fever light, but the bearded man next to him murmured, "'Ee's all right, sir. 'Ee'll 'old 'is musket straight, never fear," and the Doctor walked on with a nod.
"They killed his girl at Meerut," said his company officer in a whisper, and Herbert Erlton, standing by, set his teeth and glanced back, blue eye meeting blue eye with a sort of triumph.
For it was the 7th of June, and the blow was to be struck, the challenge given at last.
Nearly a month, thought Herbert Erlton, since it had happened. He had spent much of the time in bed, struck down with fever; for he had regained Meerut with difficulty, wounded and exhausted. And then it had been too late--too late for anything save to hang round hungrily in the hopes of that challenge to come, with many another such as he.
But it had come at last. The camp was ringing with cheers for the final reinforcement, every soul who could stand was coming out of hospital, and the air, new washed with rain, and cool, seemed to put fresh life, and with it a desire to kill, into the veins of every son of the cold North.