“The pigs! the curs!” he gasped at length. “What can it mean?”
As the Yusufzai spoke he grasped an Enfield rifle, brought it to his shoulder, and fired at the mass of drab uniforms, then fell to cursing his comrades afresh for the shame they had brought upon their corps. The onlookers could distinguish their own disloyal men pointing out the British stronghold to the Guides, who seemed to be examining the situation with keen interest. The siege was temporarily raised, whilst a general confabulation took place among the rebel leaders.
“Faiz Talab, what have they done to my brother?” asked Ted.
The Yusufzai shook his head. “I know not,” said he.
“Hadst thou no word or hint of this intended treachery?”
“Neither word nor hint, sahib. Surely I must be dreaming, for yesterday we were all loyal to the backbone, and we loved thy brother greatly. I do not understand it.”
“Yesterday,” interposed Lieutenant Leigh, “they had not heard of the mutiny and entry of the 138th. Perhaps that decided the rascals to throw over the British raj.”
“It must indeed be so, yet it does not seem possible.”
“Think you they have allowed the Captain Sahib to escape?” asked Alec Paterson, guessing that Ted could not bring himself to ask this question for fear of the reply.
“Nay, that could hardly be. If they have been so base as to prove untrue to the salt they have eaten, they would not hesitate to kill their officer.”