“He told me just now,” said King, “that Yasmini went up the Pass unescorted, mounted on a mare the very dead spit of the black one you say you wanted to buy.”
Courtenay whistled.
“I'm sorry, King. I'm sorry to say he lied.”
“Will you come and listen while I have it out with him?”
“Certainly.”
King threw away his less-than-half-consumed cheroot and they started to walk together toward King's camp. After a few minutes they arrived at a point from which they could see the prisoners lined up in a row facing Rewa Gunga. A less experienced eye than King's or Courtenay's could have recognized their attitude of reverent obedience.
“He'll make a good adjutant for you, that man,” said Courtenay; but King only grunted.
At sight of them Ismail left the line and came hurrying toward them with long mountainman's strides.
“Tell Rewa Gunga sahib that I wish to speak to him!” King called, and Ismail hurried back again.
Within two minutes the Rangar stood facing them, looking more at ease than they.