“The fools! They must make him a prisoner. You, Gil, you are well-mounted, gallop out, and call to him to surrender. We may gain valuable information. Take care, and—”
So spoke my father, and before he had finished, I was off at a gallop, glad of the excitement.
I was only just in time, for one too-enthusiastic lancer was closing up, and would have given point had I not struck his lance aside and seized the sowar’s rein.
“Surrender!” I shouted in Hindustani, and I pointed my sword at the blackened, dust-grimed fellow’s throat.
“Surrender! Yes, of course,” he panted. “Take me to an English officer. I am an Englishman.”
“Don’t you believe the treacherous dog, sir,” cried the foremost lancer. “He tried that on with us.”
“Yes, you thick-headed idiot,” panted my prisoner angrily. “This is only a disguise. I know where the niggers are, if you want to kill some one.”
I looked at him in wonder. “Why are you like this?” I said.
“I have brought a message from Nussoor.”
“Where?” I cried excitedly.