"And what of the Sirdir?" asked Saleh, starting forward.
"Allah kerim; he has been defeated by the Kaffir's dogs at Tizeen—routed by Pollock Sahib—totally!"
"Silence, fool!" cried the Dooranee, with a swift, fierce glance at the Toorkoman, as he snatched from the hands of the Hadji, and without a word of greeting or thanks, the little scroll, and then opened it deliberately and slowly, as if the disposal of a flock of sheep were the matter in hand, and not the lives or deaths, the captivity or liberty, of so many helpless human beings. The missive contained but three words, and the seal of Ackbar—
"March to Kooloom."
And Zoolficar Khan, who peeped over his shoulder without ceremony, had read it too. The beetle brows of Saleh Mohammed were close over his fiery eyes, as he said, haughtily—
"Where is this place? I may ask, as you have read the name."
"Kooloom—it is a steep, rugged, and perilous journey, Khan."
"And what am I to do when I get there?" asked Saleh Mohammed, ponderingly, of himself, and not of his companion.
"But you are not yet there," said the latter, in a low voice.
"How—what do you mean?"