Salutes were exchanged, and in a brief colloquy the eldest of the party, a smiling fellow with an enormous black beard, announced through one of the interpreters that he was the chief of the Red Dwats, come with his men to meet the English Captain and tell him that he and his people wore the most staunch friends the famous white Queen had, from there to the sources of the great river, the Indus.
Colonel Wrayford replied that he was glad to hear it, and if the chief and his people were faithful to Her Majesty’s sway they would always be protected.
The chief said that he was and always would be faithful, and that he hoped the great white Queen would remember that and send them plenty of the guns which loaded at the bottoms instead of the tops, and boxes of powder and bullets to load them with. Then he would be able to fight for Her Majesty against the other chiefs who hated her, because they were all dogs and sons of Shaitan.
“Roberts, old fellow,” whispered Bracy, high up on the wall, “I could swear I saw one of those fellows leading the attack made upon us from the cedar grove.”
“Shouldn’t be a bit surprised, dear boy. Perhaps he has repented and has come to say he is good now and will never do so any more. Can you understand any of his lingo?”
“Not a word. It doesn’t seem a bit like Hindustani. What’s that?”
“The Colonel asked what was the meaning of the attack made upon us yesterday.”
“Ah, then he knows that fellow?” whispered Bracy.
“No doubt. The old man’s pretty keen, and if that chap means treachery, I’m afraid he didn’t get up early enough this morning if he has come to take in old Graves.”
“I’m sure that’s one of them. I had him at the end of my binocular, and I know him by that scar on his cheek.”