She cried aloud for help, and a couple of the native servants rushed out; one of them seizing the drunken gunner, and, in the brief struggle which ensued, I saw the two women run away, while their assailant held on to one of the white-clothed men, and, steadying himself, began striking him savagely, while the syce made no resistance, but passively received the blows.
“The fool!” I said to myself, as I hurried up, thinking that if it had been an Englishman instead of a native, our drunken gunner would have received a severe thrashing. I did not pause to consider any consequences, but just watched my opportunity, and as the Englishman struck the syce heavily with his right hand, as he held the poor fellow with his left, I, too, delivered a stinging blow, as I ran in, right in the gunner’s ear, and then stood astonished at what I had done. For the next moment the fellow had gone down heavily, his head striking against a stone, and then he rolled over and lay still, with the syce standing close by looking on.
“You’ve killed him, sir,” said one of the man’s comrades, as he went down on one knee by his side and raised his head.
“Serve the brute right,” I said passionately.
“Yes; he’s pretty bad,” growled the other, as he, too, bent down over his comrade, the affair having pretty well sobered them, as it had sobered me, too; for a chill of horror ran through me at the very thought of the man’s words being true.
“Here, you,” I said roughly; “go and tell the sergeant of the guard. What, you in trouble again, Ny Deen?”
“Yes, sahib,” said the syce softly, for I had recognised Barton’s groom.
He ran off quickly, and the sergeant and a couple of men came up just as Barton was returning to his quarters.
“Hillo! what’s up?” he said; “an accident?”
“No,” I said shortly; “this drunken fellow was insulting our women, and then ill-using your syce for protecting them, and I knocked him down.”