"Five! six! seven! eight! nine!"
And now, unintelligible from sheer breathlessness, Roy's voice is heard. The grave, silent Râjput leaps out to meet him.
"Ten!"
Sumbal's hand swings the portfire to the breech.
Roy sees it, throws up his arms wildly, and with a cry—
"The bastion! The bastion! The Heir-to-Empire!" falls headlong into the Râjput's arms.
"What did he say?" asked the master fireworker, pausing half surprised, half angry.
But the Râjput was too busy tearing aside Roy's flimsy, bloodstained waistcoat to answer.
"Something about the bastion and the Heir-to-Empire, master!" said the sergeant doubtfully. "Mayhap 'twould be as well to wait till we can see more clearly. Kumran," he added in a lower voice, "would stick at naught——"
Sumbal hesitated, then put down the portfire and walked over to the fallen lad, beside whom the stranger was kneeling.