'I am the Colonel Sahib's son, and my order is that you go at once.
You black men are frightening the Miss Sahib.
One of you must run into cantonments and take the news that the Miss
Sahib has hurt herself, and that the Colonel's son is here with her.'
'Put our feet into the trap?' was the laughing reply.
'Hear this boy's speech!'
'Say that I sent you—I, the Colonel's son. They will give you money.'
'What is the use of this talk? Take up the child and the girl, and we can at least ask for the ransom. Ours are the villages on the heights,' said a voice in the background.
These were the Bad Men—worse than Goblins—and it needed all Wee Willie Winkie's training to prevent him from bursting into tears. But he felt that to cry before a native, excepting only his mother's ayah, would be an infamy greater than any mutiny. Moreover, he, as future Colonel of the 195th, had that grim regiment at his back.
'Are you going to carry us away?' said Wee Willie Winkie, very blanched and uncomfortable.
'Yes, my little Sahib Bahadur,' said the tallest of the men, 'and eat you afterwards.'
'That is child's talk,' said Wee Willie Winkie. 'Men do not eat men.'