"The Ressaldar's falling in your squadron," Buchanan said briskly. "Lose no time, and follow 'em up like hell. They'll break away into the hills, of course. But the chances are they'll concentrate again in the gorge and try to catch the main body as it passes through. So if they give you the slip now, ride straight on and secure the defile for us. I'll send out a detachment of infantry at the double to crown the heights; and I can safely leave all minor details to your discretion."
"Thank you, sir." And Desmond departed to carry out his orders with high elation at his heart.
There is no compliment a soldier appreciates more keenly than one which takes the practical form of leaving details to his own discretion; and, coming from Buchanan, it was doubly acceptable. For, in Desmond's opinion, there were few men in the world like the Colonel, hard and uncommunicative as he was; and it never occurred to him that his strong, unspoken admiration was returned with interest by the reserve-ridden Scot.
During the next fifteen minutes he fully justified his sobriquet of "Bijli-wallah Sahib." Before the Afridis were out of sight a hundred and sixty sabres, headed by himself and Denvil, dashed along the rugged pathway in gallant style, the men leaning well forward, and urging their horses to break-neck speed. But the enemy were well ahead from the start, and in any case, they had the advantage on their own rough soil. The squadron overtook them—breathless and eager—just as the final stragglers plunged into a lateral cleft, which would hold the darkness for another half-hour at least.
Further pursuit was out of the question; and, by way of consolation, the foremost sowars were ordered to dismount and open rapid fire in the direction of the fugitives. Groans, curses, and the thud of falling bodies testified to its effect; and with laconic murmurs of satisfaction the men remounted, and rode on up the rapidly narrowing gorge.
By now, along the silver snows to eastward, the great change had begun. The sky was blue above them; and the last of the stars had melted in the onrushing tide of light, which had already awakened the sandstone peaks to the warm hue of life.
The party mounted the ascent at a foot's pace to ease their horses; and Desmond's eyes and mind, being as it were "off duty," turned thoughtfully upon the Boy who rode at his side, a very incarnation of good health and good spirits. It seemed that the outcome of his critical inspection was approval, for it ended in a nod that confirmed some pleasant inward assurance. During the past few weeks Denvil had proved himself thoroughly "up to the mark";—hot-headed but reliable; square and upright in mind as in body; a fine soldier in the making. He had not yet arrived at the older man's keen mental interest in his profession; but closer intimacy with Desmond had kindled in him an answering spark of that idealism, that unswerving subordination of self to duty which justifies and ennobles the great game of war. He coveted action, risk, responsibility—three things which the Staff Corps subaltern, especially on the Frontier, tastes earlier than most men; and which go far to make him one of the straightest specimens of manhood in the world. In Denvil's eyes the whole expedition was one tremendous spree, which he was enjoying to the top of his bent; and Desmond, remembering the good years of his own apprenticeship, could gauge the measure of that enjoyment to the full. He felt justified in expecting great things of the Boy, and decided to work him hard all through the hot weather;—in his eyes the highest compliment a man could pay to a promising junior.
"By the way, Harry," he said suddenly, as the defile, deep-sunken between towering rock, loomed darkly into view, "I've got a word of encouragement for you before we part company. You did an uncommonly gallant bit of work in that skirmish yesterday. The Colonel spoke of it; and congratulated me on having the smartest subaltern in the regiment. Of course I've known it myself this long while; and I don't think it will hurt you to know it too."