The nearest man available happened to be a Pathan. Recognising Roy, he saluted, a fighting gleam in his eyes.
"Wah, wah! Sahib! This is not man's work, to sit staring while these throw words to a pack of mad jackals. On the Border we say, páili láth; pechi bhát.[31] That would soon make an end of this devil's noise."
"True talk," said Roy, secretly approving the man's rough wisdom. "How long has it been going on?"
"We came late, Sahib, because of the sports; but these have been nearly one hour. Once the police-lóg gave buckshot to those on the roofs. How much use—the Sahib can see. Now they have sent a sowar for the Dep'ty Sahib. But these would not hear the Lát Sahib himself. One match will light such a bonfire; but a hundred buckets will not put it out."
Roy assented, ruefully enough. "Is it true there has been big trouble at Amritsar—burning and killing?"
"Wah, wah! Shurrum ki bhát.[32] Because he who made all the trouble may not come into the Punjab, Sahibs who have no concern—are killed——"
An intensified uproar drew their eyes back to the mob.
It was swaying ominously forward, with yellings and prancings, with renewed showers of bricks and stones.
"Thus they welcome the Dep'ty Sahib," remarked Sher Khan with grim irony.
It was true. No mistaking the bulky figure on horseback, alone in the forefront of the throng, trying vainly to make himself heard. Still he pressed forward, urging, commanding; missiles hurtling round him. Luckily the aim was poor; and only one took effect.