On went the two horsemen. Ahmed could just see the fugitive ahead, bending low on the saddle, skirting obstacles in bush and tree. He felt that for his own credit and that of Ruksh the man must be caught. Patting his horse's head and speaking in his ear, he persuaded the noble animal to still greater efforts, and in a few moments saw with joy that the gap between himself and the enemy was lessening. Even Ruksh seemed to share his exhilaration; he lifted his head and bounded forward at still greater speed. Only fifty yards separated pursuer and pursued, when suddenly Ahmed heard a heavy thud; then there was silence; the hoofs of the horse in front no longer rang on the rough ground. Ahmed checked Ruksh's pace and drew his pistol. A few seconds later he saw a dark form on the ground two or three yards ahead. He reined up sharply, and walked his horse forward, keenly on the alert for an ambuscade. But on drawing nearer he recognized that the form was that of a horse; it lay at the edge of a narrow nullah. And just beyond there was another motionless form, without doubt its rider. What had happened was clear. The horseman had come unawares on the nullah; the horse had stumbled and shot its rider over its head.
Ahmed was too good a scout to relax his vigilance; it was needful to be wary in approaching even a thrown man. Pistol in hand, he made a circuit of the prostrate figure. The man lay motionless, his face to the ground. Choosing such a position that the fugitive, if shamming, would have to turn round before he could fire, Ahmed slipped from his horse, which stood still at the word of command, and moved forward to see who the captive might be.
He laid his hand on the man, who made no movement. Then he turned him over, and saw by his long white beard that he was an older man than he had supposed. Striking a light with flint and steel, for in the dark it was impossible to see whether the man was dead or merely insensible, he was amazed to see that his helpless captive was Rahmut Khan. Hastily he unslung his water-bottle, poured some drops between the old chief's lips, and dashed the rest in his face. There was a groan.
"Dog, let me die!" murmured the old man.
"Father, dost thou not know me? It is Ahmed, thy son."
The chief seemed at first too much dazed to understand what was said, but as he regained his senses he gave utterance to a cry of wonderment and delight.
"Is it indeed thee, Ahmed-ji?" he said. "Praise to the Most Merciful! I supposed it was one of the Feringhi dogs. Praise to Allah! Now thou and I can go together in peace, and do what must be done to that thrice-accursed reptile, Dilasah Khan."
Ahmed felt a great pity for the old man, ignorant of all that had happened to his adopted son during the past year.
"Nay, father," he said tenderly, "it may not be. I am of Lumsden Sahib's Guides; I was sent to catch thee: needs must I give thee up."
"Of the Guides, sayest thou? Hast thou, then, eaten of the accursed Feringhis' salt?"