When Captain Fenton with the remainder of the relieving force arrived, the men were set to work after a meal to render the track impassable. It was fortified at the bend with a series of entrenchments and wire entanglements, space being left only for horsemen to pass in single file. Before the enemy had recovered from the shock of their reverse, the position which had given them so much trouble when defended by a mere handful of almost untrained men was rendered ten times more formidable, and held by ten times as many trained troops. On the next day they felt forward with their artillery, but being met by a hail of shells from the mountain batteries, they soon withdrew their guns, and finally turned their backs on the scene of their wasted labours.
Major Endicott followed them down the valley with the greater part of his force, Lawrence accompanying him on one of the troopers' horses. He took two guns in case they should turn at bay, but they showed the utmost alacrity in retreating, and for many miles only the stragglers of their rearguard were ever in sight. When the pursuers, however, were within a short distance of the scene of Lawrence's little engagement on the way back from the bridge, they noticed a number of Kalmucks marching over the hills to the left. They were no doubt following the path by which the Kalmucks on that occasion had managed to outflank Lawrence's party. There being none of the enemy in sight along the track, Major Endicott deemed it necessary to climb into the hills and pursue the fugitives until he had made sure that no concentration was being attempted.
He left half his party with the guns on the track to continue their march, and began to climb. It was a breakneck path, narrow, tortuous, and at times so steep that the troopers had to dismount and lead their horses carefully. They made slow progress, and when the Major reached a more level stretch and, looking through his field-glass, no longer saw any sign of the enemy, he decided that it would be waste of time and energy to follow any farther.
He had just given the order to retire when the figure of a man suddenly appeared from the entrance of a ravine a few hundred yards ahead, and walked towards the troop, holding his hands above his head. Thinking that he was one of the enemy intending to surrender, the Major waited.
"I know that man," said Lawrence after a few moments. "He's an old Uzbek fellow, who lives quite alone somewhere in these hills, no one knows where. He comes to the mine at long intervals to buy food and ammunition in exchange for the horns and skins of Ovis poli. I suppose he's on his way there now."
"Can you understand his lingo?"
"No; my uncle was the only one of us who could talk to him."
The man approached. He was a strange object, the wrinkled skin of his face yellow like old ivory, a ragged white beard hanging almost to his waist. When he came up, he made some sort of salutation to Lawrence, and another to the Major, then muttered the word kuzur.
"We all know what that means," said the Major; but he paused, struck by an eager look in Lawrence's eyes as the old man made some pantomimic gestures and pointed in the direction whence he had come. Lawrence sprang from his horse.
"He wants me to go with him, Major," he said hurriedly. "I believe--I hardly dare think it----"