If his reception here was disappointing, there was nothing lacking in the warmth of Charteris's welcome when he landed at his camp from the undignified conveyance of a charpoy supported on mashaks[1]—a small fleet of these vessels being in readiness to carry him and his train across the river. The puppies were duly exhibited after supper, and Gerrard made his choice, and then, though it was still early, for the crossing had to be made by daylight, Charteris dismissed him to sleep off his fatigues, promising that he should be called well in the middle of the night.
"To-morrow is a blank day as far as the administration of justice is concerned," he said. "I have threatened all my petitioners with atrocious pains and penalties if they so much as show their noses in camp, and you and I will go for a picnic. I know a bank where the wild thyme don't grow, but where one of my reformed robbers has a garden and a spring of sweet water, and will make us welcome to enjoy kaf[2] for a while."
Gerrard had his doubts as to the feasibility of this programme when he was dressing the next morning by the light of a candle-end stuck into the neck of a bottle. A whisper outside the tent reached his ears.
"Brother, is the Sahib awake?"
"Which Sahib, O foolish one?"
"Our Sahib, the red Sahib, the mad Sahib."
"Aye, he is awake, but he rides forth before dawn."
"Bad for Bob!" thought Gerrard, as a rustle denoted the withdrawal of the questioner, but he had not the heart to tell his friend of his fears when they met for choti haziri, and he saw his high spirits.
"We'll take the dogs with us a little way—do the beggars no end of good—and send 'em back to camp before the sun's up," said Charteris, as they mounted. "'Give the hounds a trot out by way of exercise'—eh?"
"Well, I hope it won't end in 'Dinner lost! 'ounds lost! self lost—all lost together!' What d'ye think of calling the hunt, old boy?"