"Stay here," he said to the Pathans; "I'll go back and look for Fyz Ali."
"Hai, sahib!" said one of the men, "it is foolishness. See, Ayoub is dead. Some of the dogs of Kalmucks are hiding behind the rocks above; they will shoot you even as they shot Ayoub."
"Nonsense: I'm riding Fyz Ali's horse: I can't leave him in the lurch."
He rode back along the track, and after a moment's hesitation one of the Pathans followed him. Warned by the fate of Ayoub they proceeded with caution, scanning the hill-side for signs of the enemy. For half a mile or more they saw neither foe nor friend, except the bodies of those who had fallen in the fray. Then they came in view of a strange procession. At this point the hill-side to the left of the track rose so steeply as to be unscalable. It was here that the Kalmucks, hard pressed, had flung themselves into the river. A few hundred yards ahead they saw two men approaching them, walking slowly backward. One of them was Fyz Ali, the other a Kalmuck. Fyz Ali had the man by the middle, holding him so that he formed a screen against a dozen Kalmucks who were slipping from rock to rock on the hill-side some distance beyond. Evidently they were watching for a chance to take a shot at the Pathan, but were baffled by his ingenious device. By keeping the prisoner constantly between him and them, he rendered it impossible for them to fire without the risk of hitting their own man.
Smiling with appreciation of Fyz Ali's manoeuvre, Lawrence dismounted, and ordered his man to dismount also. Then leading the ponies behind a rock, they knelt down, took aim at the distant Kalmucks, and fired. It was doubtful whether their shots took effect, but they checked the pursuit, and Fyz Ali seized the opportunity to hasten his retreat. Hugging the perpendicular wall, he came nearer and nearer, never loosing his hold of the Kalmuck, nor allowing his own person to be exposed.
The Kalmucks beyond returned Lawrence's fire, but they made no attempt to advance. They were not equal to the desperate venture of leaving their cover among the rocks and running the gauntlet along the open space which Fyz Ali and his prisoner were now traversing. In another two minutes the Pathan had joined his master.
"That was well done," said Lawrence, welcoming him.
Fyz Ali, breathing hard, set his prisoner against the rock, and holding him there with his left hand, drew his tulwar.
"No, no," said Lawrence hastily.
"Why, sahib? He is a Kalmuck," said Fyz Ali, and his eyes glared as he looked round.