Anxious glances were directed back at the rugged elevations they had now left far behind, but not one of the Wazir’s men could be seen.
“Not one, Dick,” said Wyatt, closing his glass. “So I don’t mind so much. We shall have time to devote ourselves to our fresh visitors,” he said grimly.
“They’re startled already,” replied Dick. “They’re halting.”
“Smell powder, like the black crows they are,” growled Wyatt. “Don’t care for the look of the guns. Why, Dick, look at them! They’re the two regiments that we have drilled. See how they are forming into squadrons. Bah! it is horrible. They’ll beat us by manoeuvring.”
“The two regiments and the Rajah’s bodyguard,” cried Dick. “I know them by their white puggrees. Look, look! A white flag.”
“Same as white feather,” said Wyatt as three horsemen, magnificently mounted, came sweeping across the plain, leaving the squadrons drawn up in position. One of them bore a small white flag at the end of a lance, and as the pair sat watching Hulton joined them.
“What does this mean?” he said.
“Treachery, as likely as not,” replied Wyatt. “But we shall soon see.”
“It’s the captain of the guard leading,” cried Dick excitedly; and a few minutes after their old acquaintance dashed right up to where they sat.
“I heard the guns,” he cried excitedly. “What has happened?”