“But we shall have to get hold of them first,” objected Stratford.
“Exactly. That’s what I’m going to do.”
“Stuff! You are not going down among them alone, I can tell you.”
“We can’t waste more than one man over this business. Look there,” and he threw a significant glance at the trembling Ethiopian captain, “you can see what he thinks of it. I’ll take Ismail Bakhsh with me. Lend him your revolver.”
“Oh, Dick, what are you going to do?” asked Georgia in astonishment, as she met Dick outside the tent, revolver in hand, with Ismail Bakhsh stalking after him with inimitable dignity and determination, his right hand thrust into his girdle.
“Never mind. Go back into your tent, and don’t show yourselves, any of you,” returned Dick, sharply. She obeyed without hesitation; but since he had not forbidden her to watch him, she took advantage of a hole in the canvas to gain a view of all that passed. From the sandhill on which the tents were pitched she could see the soldiers in their camp below, gathered round an orator who was haranguing them, while no preparations for starting were visible. She saw Dick march calmly into the throng, elbowing his way through the men with little ceremony, and dislodge the orator forcibly from the unsteady rostrum of biscuit-boxes which he occupied. When she next caught a glimpse of him he was on the outskirts of the crowd again, holding his prisoner by the rags which represented his collar, and propelling him vigorously in the direction of the tents, assisting his progress now and again by a hearty kick. The rest of the troop appeared to have been stupefied by the suddenness of the onslaught, but just as Dick was free of the throng, Georgia saw another man leap up upon a box and call out to his fellows to rescue their leader. The spell was broken, and there was an ugly rush, while weapons were hastily caught up.
“Arrest that man, Ismail Bakhsh,” said Dick, without looking round; “and if he won’t come quietly, shoot him.”
Ismail Bakhsh obeyed in perfect silence, and led his captive up the hill after Dick, the troopers once more making way for him without attempting to use their weapons. Arrived at the summit, Dick paused and looked back.
“Dismiss!” he said, in a sharp, harsh voice such as Georgia had never heard from him before, and the mutineers, understanding the order by a species of intuition, dispersed quietly, while Dick and Ismail Bakhsh passed on to the tent with their prisoners.
“Georgie, what is the matter?” cried Lady Haigh, as Georgia dropped the canvas flap with a gasping cry, and staggered back against the tent pole.