"We took food before we started from Lahore," Bhop Lal replied.
"Ah, you came from Lahore: what is the last news there?"
"There is nothing new, everything is quiet, and they say that most of the English will soon march away."
"We will make short work of the maharanee and her son as soon as they go," the man said savagely. "They are but puppets now in the hands of the English, and have signed away the best doab in the Punjaub so as to buy protection for Dhuleep Singh. He is no longer a Sikh prince, and we will speedily place one of our own sirdars on the throne."
"That is what we all mean to do," Bhop Lal agreed; "we want no boy as our ruler now, but a sirdar who can lead us to battle. It will be different next time; last time we despised the English, and so they beat us; next time it will be they who will make too sure, and we shall beat them."
"Where are you going?"
"We are thinking of taking service under Ghoolab Singh."
"The old fox is a traitor," the man said angrily, while a general murmur broke from his comrades.
"There is no doubt that he played us false," Bhop Lal agreed; "but now that he is master of Cashmere he may think it his interest to go with us next time; and besides, at present his gold is as good as another's, and none of the other sirdars will increase their forces until the English have retired; so there is just the choice of taking service with Ghoolab or of starving."
"There is no occasion to starve for those who have got arms," the man said; "and we find it easier to help ourselves and to be our own masters than to serve anyone else. You had better join us, comrades."