But we had no eyes for river or plain with such a scene between us and the village as greeted us; for there, in very fair order, thanks to our highly trained horses, was our little battery of six six-pounders, with their limbers and mounted men complete; but, in place of the English gunners and drivers in their laced jackets, breeches and boots, brass helmets, and long scarlet horsehair plumes, the battery was manned by dark-faced men in white, with turbans to match, and under the command of a noble-looking chief in a turban that flashed in the sunlight with gold or gems; while, even at the distance we were, we could make out that the man in gay shawls and rich stuffs, who waved his sword as he cantered along upon a magnificent arab, was Barton’s old syce, Ny Deen.
“The scoundrel!” muttered Brace, whose hand played with the hilt of his pistol as we crouched there, and I felt that if ever he came within range, a bullet would lay him low.
As the troop went along at a trot, a thrill ran through me, and I felt an intense longing to be mounted once more in my place; and from that moment shared more intensely Brace’s longing to recover the guns.
“They are on the march again,” my companion whispered, as he used his glass and went on making comments. “The guns look bright and clean; the scoundrels, they know their value to them. But they cannot manage them like our lads. Oh, Gil, boy, it is maddening to see them going off under our eyes, and we able to do nothing.”
“No,” I said sadly; “it must be a surprise. We could do nothing even if our men were here.”
“Nothing,” he replied as the rattle and tramp grew fainter, and horse after horse that I recognised, from some peculiarity of colour or mark, became merged in the crowd. “There must be a road through the village and along by the river. Oh, Gil, if they had been going to stay there for the night, I should have risked a surprise. Yes. There they go. Well, we can see at last the direction they take, and if there is a road, we’ll risk a night’s march, and try to come up with them. Our horses—our guns—in the hands of that wretched crew! And look at the groom dressed out in all that finery—plunder, I suppose. But only wait.”
At that moment I clutched at Brace’s arm, and he gave quite a gasp of relief, for all at once we saw Ny Deen turn his horse, gallop to our left, and then pull up and face round while the troop wheeled to the left, trotted steadily along past the village, wheeled again, and then advanced parallel to the course we had seen them taking, but of course in the reverse direction, so that if they went on far enough, they would pass us about half a mile away.
“They’re drilling,” I whispered excitedly.
“Yes, drilling,” cried Brace, and turning as he spoke. “Gil, lad, they will halt here for the night.”
He caught my hand in a tremendous grip, and his face lit up and his eyes flashed with excitement as he uttered a curious laugh.