The two horsemen were at some little distance apart. They were both somewhat corpulent, and there was no look of the warrior about them. One of them turned, and, catching sight of the figure in khaki coming at speed, he shouted to his companion and then dug his spurs into his horse and rode with all haste towards a patch of woodland beyond. Ahmed set him down as a cowardly Hindu, yet felt some surprise at his flight. Surely six men might have the courage to try conclusions with a single horseman. If he had had time to think he might have concluded that the runaway was not aware that his pursuer was for the moment alone; but having previously seen the whole party of Guides, feared that they were close behind. Whatever his thoughts may have been, his companion was made of sterner stuff. He disregarded the other's warning shout; at the very instant when his companion fled, he wheeled his horse and stood to face the attack.
Ahmed now saw that the man had a pistol in one hand and a talwar in the other. But it was clear that he was not a practised combatant. Had he taken aim without flurry he could have shot Ahmed with ease, for the lad's carbine was empty, all his powder and shot having been used up during the recent fight. The horseman took a hurried snap-shot at him, and missed. At the moment when the man fired Ahmed was approaching him from the near side. By a slight touch on the flank of his horse—a touch so slight that an ordinary horse in full gallop would have been quite unaffected by it—he changed the direction of the arab and came up on the off-side of his adversary. The man seemed bewildered by the sudden change in the point of attack. Before he could swing round to parry the stroke, Ahmed's sword caught him at the shoulder; he toppled sideways from his saddle to the ground; and his horse bolted.
CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH
The Missy Sahib
During this little encounter the bearers had done what might have been expected of men of their class. They had set the palki down, and stared in open-mouthed confusion, irresolutely watching the course of events. When Ahmed had disposed of his opponent, who lay groaning on the ground, they laid hands on the poles as if to make an attempt to escape with their burden. But Ahmed called to them to stand fast. He used words of Urdu, the common language of Hindustan, though to him it was a foreign tongue. The Guides, being drawn from many different races of the north-west, had developed a patois of their own—a strange compound of hill dialects with Urdu and even English. Ahmed in his early childhood had learnt to prattle in Urdu with his ayah and the other servants, and in Hoti-Mardan he had quickly picked up more than he had known before, so that his cry was quite intelligible to the bearers. But even if they had not understood his words, they could have been under no misapprehension of the meaning of his tone. They let the palki fall again, and stood trembling.
"What have you got in the palki?" asked Ahmed sharply.
The men remained silent, looking one at another: it was as though none cared to accept the responsibility of being spokesman. Ahmed had contemptuously sheathed his sword after the fall of his adversary, the cringing bearers being of no account to a Pathan. But now he made a movement as if to draw it again. It was enough. The four men made haste to speak at once, and in faltering tones confessed that there was a person in the palki.
"The headman?" cried Ahmed quickly.
"Not so. It is not a man."