His resolution fixed, he climbed down the tree and crept to the palki. It was difficult for him to explain his purpose to the girl without the assistance of the bearers, but he did not wish them to know too much. The missy sahib herself was so depressed from anxiety and want of sleep, as well as from the effects of the heat, that she was slower to apprehend than she might otherwise have been. But he succeeded after a time in making her understand that he was going to bring help from the sahibs, who were very near at hand, and that during his absence she was to strike without compunction any of the bearers who tried either to free himself or to give an alarm. Then he cut lengths of creeper sufficient for his purpose, and tied the men's arms and legs together so that they could not move. He did not gag them; they were in a state of abject submission; and when he told them that the missy sahib would certainly kill them if they uttered a word above a whisper, they declared that they had no tongues until he gave them leave. Then he wrenched the muslin curtains of the palki from their fastenings, and with the missy sahib's help his khaki was soon entirely concealed.
As she twisted the stuff around him she suddenly said—
"There is a little black hole in your pagri, and the cloth is scorched around it. Did you know that?"
He did not understand her until at her bidding he took the pagri from his head, and she pointed to the spot. Then he remembered that the zamindar had fired almost point-blank at him, and did not doubt that the bullet had gone through his head-dress. But he had no words to explain this to the girl, and would hardly have done so if he could. It had been a narrow escape: a Pathan took such incidents as a matter of course.
Having made his preparations, he repeated his orders to the men, and led his horse gently up the nullah towards the road. It was now midday; the sun burnt at its fiercest; not a living soul was passing along the road, and the horsemen at the plantation were without doubt in a state of somnolence. It was not at all improbable that he might mount and ride some paces before he was seen. He crept quietly along the nullah until he reached the end, then sprang lightly into the saddle, walked the horse the few yards to the road, and urged it to a mad gallop towards Delhi. Some few seconds passed before the clatter of the hoofs was heard by the men dozing in the plantation; then some of them rose lazily to their feet and gazed at this strange figure in yellow and red tearing along so furiously. As soon as he was within hailing distance Ahmed flung up his arms and shouted—
"The Feringhis! The sahibs! They are upon us! Fly for your lives!"
The effect was magical. The lethargic sowars were galvanized into activity. Those who were already upon their feet rushed to their horses, unloosed them, and in a few moments were galloping at a headlong speed in a direction at right angles to the road. Those who had as yet been too sleepy or too incurious to rise sprang up and followed their comrades' example. Soon the whole party was scattered, each man riding as his fear directed him, the dust of the plain flying up in clouds from the heels of their horses. And still Ahmed rode on, crying lustily, "The sahibs are upon us!"
He breasted the hillock, topped the crest, and gained the other side. Then he saw what had so much occupied the sowars earlier in the day. Some three miles ahead of him the white tents of the Guides gleamed in the sunlight. Between him and them there was a small mounted patrol of the same corps. He gave a joyful shout, and Ruksh flew down the gentle slope with responsive gaiety. The men of the patrol caught sight of him as soon as he of them, though in the distance it was impossible to distinguish what or who he was. On he rode, and as he drew nearer he began to tear off the coloured muslin that disguised him. The khaki was disclosed. Wondering, the sowars of the patrol watched as he approached, shading their eyes against the sunbeams. Presently one of them recognized the horse; there was no horse like Ruksh in the corps. Then another shouted, "'Tis Ahmed!" and cantered to meet him.
"What news?" he cried.
But Ahmed galloped past, throwing a mere word of greeting to his comrades. Nor did he draw rein until he reached the commandant's quarters. Then his story was quickly told. Five minutes afterwards a half-troop rode out under Lieutenant Hawes, Ahmed leading the way. When they reached the crest there was no sign of the mutineers. They had utterly vanished off the plain. Riding down to the nullah, they found the palki-wallahs lying fast asleep in the shade of the bushes where Ahmed had left them, and the missy sahib asleep in the palki, grasping the knife. Ahmed flung himself from his horse, kicked the bearers awake, and cut their bonds. Meanwhile Lieutenant Hawes was trying to awaken the girl, speaking to her quietly so as not to startle her. His low tones making no impression, he touched her lightly on the arm. She sprang up with a shriek, lifting the knife. Then, seeing an English face, and hearing an English voice, she flung down the weapon and, to Lieutenant Hawes' amazement, fairly flung herself into his arms.