"What have you got there, Tom?" said another voice.
"Blowed if it ain't a Pandy or some other drowned rat by the feel of him. What do you mean, you suar ka bachcha, by treading on the toes of a British rifleman? Hilo mat, you bloomin' reptile, or I'll stick my bay'net in your gala."
"Take me to Hodson Sahib," said Ahmed in halting English, as soon as he got his breath.
"Hodson Sahib be jiggered! We ain't khaki, as you might see with your cat's eyes; we're green, we are. You've come to the wrong shop for those everlasting Guides, if that's what you want. You've got gentlemen of the 60th Royal Rifles to deal with, let me tell you. He ain't got no rifle, mates, so there ain't no harm in him. What are you a-doing of here, and what was that there noise we heard just now?"
"Take me to Hodson Sahib," Ahmed repeated.
"Perhaps he's one of Hodson's spies, Tom," said a third man. "Better send him along to the Colonel."
"We can't send him, not having no conveniences for such. He'll just have to wait until we're relieved."
"But s'pose he's got news of an attack? There'd be a bit of a dust-up if the General didn't get warning in time."
"And there'd be another dust-up if an inspection-officer come along and found me absent from my juty. Rum thing, juty, you nigger; and the sooner you learn it the better. My juty says one thing, your juty,—if so be you are one of Hodson's spies—says another. If two juties pulls in hopposite directions, the thing that wants doing don't get done, and the consekinces is accordin'."
"Y' ought to bin a parson, Tom. Blest if ever I knowed such a chap for argyfying."