A growl like the distant rumble from a bear-pit answered him. Then Ruth Bellairs' voice was heard calling up the stairway.
“Is that you, Mahommed Khan?”
“Ay, memsahib!”
“Good! I'm coming!”
She had recovered far enough to climb the ladder and the steep stone stair above it, and Suliman climbed up behind her, grumbling dreadful prophecies of what would happen to the priests now that Mohammed Khan had come.
“Is all well, Risaldar?” she asked him.
“Nay, heavenborn! All is not well yet! The general sahib from Jundhra and your husband's guns and others, making one division, are engaged with rebels eight or nine miles from here. We saw part of the battle as we rode!”
“Who wins?”
“It is doubtful, heavenborn! How could we tell from this distance?”
“Have you a horse for me?”