“Yes, sahib, a little way; not very far.”
“Gil,” said Brace, thoughtfully, “he could walk well enough to guide us back to the tope. The doctor will be back by now, and anxious. Shall I make him do it?”
“No,” I said excitedly. “He may see some of the mutineers afterwards, and tell them we are following.”
“Of course. No, he must not know; and I suppose we must not kill him in cold blood to keep him from telling tales.”
“Brace!” I cried, but he only smiled, and, turning to the Hindu—
“Get water,” he said. “We are thirsty.”
The old man went to a corner of the room, trembling in every limb, and taking a brass lotah from where it was hidden, he went out of the place into the darkness.
“Do you think he is treacherous?” I whispered, “and will bring back others?”
“No. The old man is honest enough, Gil. There, lie down on that charpoy.”
“But you?” I said.