"The ass does not know how to laugh. Is Ahsan the only man of knowledge and understanding? The knowing bird is not caught in the snare, and I, Dilasah, am not a fledgeling. The expedition was in truth the talk of the bazar, but I did not swallow what was said there. How should the truth be known? I sought out in Peshawar a holy fakir whom I know. He hates the infidel Feringhis, and he has means of finding out their plans, most marvellous. The talk of the bazar and the truth were as different as fire and water; and what I have told is not the bazar-talk, but the truth as I learnt it from the fakir."
"Then, if he hates the Feringhis, will he not warn Lal Jan, and so Lal Jan will fly to the hills with his treasure, and the Feringhis will get nothing, so that when our people fall upon them their bags will be empty?"
"Not so," said Dilasah, in answer to this further question of Ahsan. "He is no friend to Lal Jan; Lal Jan is, indeed, a thorn in his quilt; he will gain double delight from the spoiling, first of Lal Jan, and afterwards of the Feringhis. But why talk thus? If Ahsan, who is old and toothless, thinks himself so clever, let him go to Peshawar and learn the truth of things. As for me, I have done the chief's bidding; it is for him to command."
And with the air of one who had been deeply offended, Dilasah left the council.
After he had gone, Rahmut asked Ahsan why he threw doubt on the accuracy of the information; and when the old man confessed that he had no reason save a distrust of Dilasah, the chief was angry. Dilasah could have no object in bringing false information, for he was to accompany the chief in the proposed raid, and would suffer equally with the rest if it should fail. It was decided in the end to accept his report as accurate, and preparations for the expedition were hurried on.
A few days later, Rahmut Khan left the village at the head of eighty men—the pick of his own and of Minghal's warriors. Ahmed, left behind with a score of fighting men to defend the village, watched his father's departure with envy. How he longed that the place at the chief's right hand had been bestowed on him instead of on Dilasah! But it was useless to repine; he could only swallow his disappointment and hope that during his father's absence something might happen to give him an opportunity for active work.
Rahmut could scarcely be expected to return before a fortnight. The British force would take some time in the work assigned to it, and the chief's plan was to ambush it on its return journey, when in possession of the revenue it had been sent to collect. Ahmed went every day to the top of the tower to scan the surrounding country, but saw nothing to attract his attention. Life went on in the village from day to day as usual, the fighting men spending most of the time in playing games of chance, the workers toiling for an hour or two and idling the rest. Ahmed was of too active a disposition to remain idle. He practised swordsmanship with one or two of the men, went hunting in the hills behind the village with some of the youths, and induced some of the best riders to join him in the game of nazabaze, in which he proved himself easily first.
And then one day, the fifteenth since his father's departure, he saw from his look-out on the tower a band of horsemen approaching. There was great excitement in the village when he told them the news; nobody had any doubt that the chief was returning successful, and all excitedly speculated on the amount of booty he had taken. Ahmed watched the approach of the horsemen as eagerly as any one. At first a mere blot on the sky, sometimes disappearing behind a copse or in a valley, the band gradually became more distinct and definite, and after two hours he was able to assure himself that it did indeed consist of his father's men.
But it seemed somewhat diminished, and when, an hour later, it had come so near that he could distinguish the individuals composing it, he suddenly caught Ahsan by the arm and cried—
"Where is my father? I do not see him; do you?"