Some muttered to
one another and some laughed, but the greater number marched in silence.
"That for thy English!" grinned the priest. "Can the English troops
overcome that horde?"
"Hey-ee! For a troop or two of Rajputs!" sighed the Risaldar. "Or
English Lancers! They would ride through that as an ax does through
the brush-wood!"
"Bah!" said the priest. "All soldiers boast! There will be a houghing
shortly after dawn. The days of thy English are now numbered."
"By those--there?"
"Ay, by those, there! Come!"
They climbed down the steps again, the Rajput humming to himself and
smiling grimly into his mustache.
"Ay! There will be a houghing shortly after dawn!" he muttered.
"Would only that I were there to see! . . . Where are the sepoys?"
he demanded.
"I know not. How should I know, who have been thy guest these hours
past? This march is none of my ordering."
The priest pressed hard on a stone knob that seemed to be part of
the carving on a wall, then he leaned his weight against the wall
and a huge stone swung inward, while a fetid breath of air wafted
outward in their faces.
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