“And you’re disappointed because the poor chap ain’t made of cast steel and whipcord like yourself? After all, he’ll be in at the death, thanks to Bleackley.”
“Hang Bleackley! I’ll swear I could take the place by a coup de main with my men and your guns—and to be forbidden to approach too near, or pursue the enemy——”
“Got to engage ’em first—find ’em, too. Well, when you do, the guns will be up in support, if I have to drag ’em through the sand at my quad.’s tail.”
“All serene. I count on you.”
Brian’s slumbers that day were disturbed by rolling thunder, which worried rather than troubled him—it was so persistent. He was never really awakened, however, and arose at sunset, refreshed but rather injured, to find to his astonishment that there had been no storm at all. The thunder of which he had been intermittently conscious was that of Sir Dugald Haigh’s guns, with the support of which the Khemistan Horse had attacked a strong Arabit force covering Umarganj and driven it from its position. Forbidden beforehand to follow up his victory, Captain Keeling, with murder in his heart, could only send to inform his superior that the way to the town was now open, and entreat to be allowed to pursue the retreating foe and cut off Kamal-ud-din’s retreat. He had not been in the fight—so Captain Keeling had learnt from the prisoners he had taken,—but he was certainly in the town, and his capture would end the war at one blow. But Colonel Bleackley scented stratagems and ambushes, and flatly forbade his subordinate to do more than bivouac for the night on the ground he had won. The next day the whole force moved forward majestically—also slowly,—the Khemistan Horse acting as advanced-guard instead of reconnoitring ahead of the column. Brian, riding with Captain Keeling, had little conversation with him, for the Commandant was too much disgusted to talk. He was quite certain Kamal-ud-din would have seized the opportunity to make good his escape, and all the work would have to be done over again. They rode on grumpily in the broiling heat, their eyes mocked by the most enticing mirage imaginable in the circumstances. A stately castle rose from the margin of a pellucid lake, in which its battlemented turrets were faithfully mirrored. Behind it towered mountains which it could have been sworn were snow-capped, and on either side were waving palms and green undergrowth. Both men were well accustomed to deceptions of such a kind by this time, and were not unduly disappointed when the delightful prospect faded suddenly, revealing a straggling mass of mud hovels surrounded by a mud wall and clustering about a mud fort. This was Umarganj, the goal of their efforts—but a goal without reward, as Captain Keeling perceived when he handed his telescope to his companion and pointed out a group of men waiting in the shade of the gateway facing them.
“Townspeople—on the watch to surrender the place,” he growled. “Kamal-ud-din and his Arabits have cut their stick, of course.”
“I wonder now was he gone when the spies brought that tale to Bleackley yesterday?” said Brian.
“Not he. Spread the report in the hope Bleackley would think he was a day late for the fair and go home. You put a stop to that, happily. Then my young gentleman leaves the fellows we defeated yesterday to fight a rearguard action and allow him time to get away, and clears out comfortably while we have our proper meals and go to bed in nice time!”
Brian laughed at the savagery of the tone, and they rode on, to be met by the men they had seen—a number of the notables of the town, whose protestations of their devotion to the General and the British, and their delight in surrendering, scarcely carried conviction. They were a ragged, wild-looking crew, and the place was so miserable and poverty-stricken that both men were conscious of a mean joy in the thought that Colonel Bleackley would consider its possession a very poor return for the long march it had cost. But one of the ambassadors—possibly reading some depreciation in the faces of the conquerors—approached them ingratiatingly.
“The Sahib and the Beebee are quite safe, and their servants,” he said. “And”—with a smirk—“we have a prisoner to hand over who will rejoice the heart of the Padishah—on whom be the blessing of God!”