A thousand or more of the mutineers leaned on their rifles on the
shoulder of a hill and looked them over, a thousand yards away.
"Send them an invitation!" commanded Colonel Carter, and the left-hand
gun barked out an overture, killing one sepoy. The rest made off
in the direction of Hanadra.
"We're likely to have a hot reception when we reach there!" said Colonel
Carter cheerily. "Well, we'll rest here for thirty minutes and give
them a chance to get ready for us. I'm sorry there's no breakfast,
men, but the sepoys will have dinner ready by the time we get there--
we'll eat theirs!"
The chorus of ready laughter had scarcely died away when a horse's
hoof-beats clattered in the distance from the direction of Doonha
and a native cavalryman galloped into view, low-bent above his horse's
neck. The foam from his horse was spattered over him and his lance
swung pointing upward from the sling. On his left side the polished
scabbard rose and fell in time to his horse's movement. He was urging
his weary horse to put out every ounce he had in him.
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