He could not mount and ride, though, for very shame, while his men
were marching, and he dared not let them ride, for fear the horses
might give in. He could just trudge and trudge, and hate himself
and every one, and wonder.
What had the Risaldar contrived to do? Why hadn't he packed up his
wife's effects the moment that his orders came and ridden off with
her and the section at once, instead of waiting three hours or more
for an escort for her? Why hadn't he realized at once that orders
that came in a hurry that way, in the night-time, were not only urgent
but ominous as well? What chance had the Risaldar--an old man, however
willing he might be--to ride through a swarming countryside for thirty
miles or more and bring back an escort? Why, even supposing Mohammed
Khan had ridden off at once, he could scarcely be back again before
the section! And what would have happened in the meantime?
Supposing the Risaldar's sons and grandsons refused to obey him?
Stranger things than that had been known to happen! Suppose they
were disloyal? And then--blacker though than any yet!--suppose--
suppose-- Why had Mahommed Khan, the hard-bitten, wise old war-dog,
advised him to leave his wife behind? Did that seem like honest
advice, on second thought? Mohammedans had joined in this outbreak
as well as Hindus.
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