The cheer broke bonds from the depth of Cunningham's being, and Mahommed Gunga heard it on the plain below. There was a rush to man the wheels and sweat the gate up, and Cunningham started to run down the zigzag pathway. He thought better of it, though, and waited where the path gave out onto the courtyard, giving the signal with the cords for the gate to lower away again.
“Evening, Mahommed Gunga!” he said, almost casually, as the weary charger's nose appeared above the rise.
“Salaam, bahadur!”
He dismounted and saluted and then leaned against his horse.
“I wonder, sahib, whether the horse or I be weariest! Of your favor, water, sahib!”
Cunningham brought him water in a dipper, and the Rajput washed his horse's mouth out, then held out the dipper again to Cunningham for fresh charge for himself.
“I would not ask the service, sahib, but for the moment my head reels. I must rest before I ride again.”
“Is all well, Mahommed Gunga?”
“Ay, sahib! More than well!”
“The men are ready?”