“Then why not make the Nazarene pay for his journey?” said the rissaldar with grim humor.
He showed skill as a cut-purse in going straight to an inner pocket where Malcolm carried some small store of money. Taking ten gold mohurs, he told the men to hasten back to the village and purchase a couple of strong ponies.
“Nay,” said he, when they made to ride off. “You must go afoot, else I may never again see you or the tats. I will abide here till you return. See that you lose no time, but if darkness falls speedily I will await you in the next village.”
Not daring to argue with this truculent-looking bravo, the men obeyed. Already it was dusk and daylight would soon fail. No sooner had they disappeared round the first bend in the road than the rissaldar, unfastening Malcolm’s bonds the while, said with a strange humility:
“It was easier done than I expected, sahib, but I guessed that my story about the Nawab of Rampur would send Moulvie and Begum packing. Now we are free, and we have four horses. Whither shall we go? But, if it be north, south, east, or west, let us leave the main road, for messengers may meet the moulvie and that would make him suspicious.”
“Thy counsel is better than mine, good friend,” was Frank’s answer. “I am yet dazed with thy success, and my only word is—to Allahabad.”