“Nussoor. Who is in command here?”
“Colonel Vincent,” I said.
“Thank Heaven!” he cried; and he reeled in his saddle, but recovered directly. “I’m beaten,” he said. “A terrible long round to avoid the enemy. I had to go out the other side. It was a forlorn hope.”
By this time my father and several officers had ridden up, and I exclaimed excitedly—
“This is a messenger from Nussoor.”
“Yes,” said my prisoner. “I was obliged to assume this disguise. Colonel Vincent, don’t you know me?”
“Brooke! Ah, my dear fellow, what news?”
“Bad; terrible. We were at the end nearly of our ammunition. Closely invested for many days past. People fighting like heroes; but they can hold out no longer. And, to make matters worse, that fiend, Ny Deen, is advancing on the place with a powerful force. I was nearly taken by his men.”
“How far is Nussoor from here?” said my father hoarsely.
“About fourteen miles, I should say.”