The Risaldar stood grimly where he was until the last hoof-beat and
bump of gun-wheel had died away into the distance; then he turned
and climbed the winding stairway to the room where the lamp still
shone through gauzy curtains.
On a dozen roof-tops, where men lay still and muttered, brown eyes
followed the movements of the section and teeth that were betel-stained
grinned hideously.
From a nearby temple, tight-packed between a hundred crowded houses,
came a wailing, high-pitched solo sung to Siva--the Destroyer. And
as it died down to a quavering finish it was followed by a ghoulish
laugh that echoed and reechoed off the age-old city-wall.
Proud as a Royal Rajput--and there is nothing else on God's green
earth that is even half as proud--true to his salt, and stout of heart
even if he was trembling at the knees, Mahommed Khan, two-medal man
and Risaldar, knocked twice on the door of Mrs. Lellairs' room, and
entered.
And away in the distance rose the red reflection of a fire ten leagues
away. The Mutiny of '57 had blazed out of sullen mystery already,
the sepoys were burning their barracks half-way on the road to Jundhra!
And down below, to the shadow where the Risaldar had stood, crept
a giant of a man who had no military bearing.
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