like the rumble of a gun carriage. And,
too, there was the drumming of many hoofs upon the road. Barlow's ear
told him it was the rhythmic beat of cavalry horses, not the erratic
rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat of native ponies.

With a pressure upon the rein he edged the grey from the white road to a
fringe of bamboo and date palms, saying; "If you will wait here, Gulab,
I'll see what this is all about."

He slipped from the saddle and lifted her gently to the ground saying,
"Don't move; of a certainty it is nothing but the passing of some raja.
But, if by any chance I don't return, wait until all is still, until all
have gone, and then some well-disposed driver of a bullock cart will take
you on your way." Putting his hand in his pocket, and drawing it forth,
he added: "Here is the compeller of friendship--silver; for a bribe even
an enemy will become a friend."

But the Gulab with her slim fingers closed his hand over the rupees, and
pressed the back of it against her lips saying, "If I die it is nothing.
But stay here, Sahib, they may be--"

She stopped, and he asked, "May be who, Gulab?"

"Men who will harm thee."

But Barlow lifting to the saddle passed to the road, and Bootea crumpled
down in a little desolate heap of misery, her fingers thrust within her
bodice, pleading with an amulet for protection for the Sahib. She prayed
to her own village god to breathe mercy into the hearts of those who
marched in war, and if it were the Bagrees, that Bhowanee would vouchsafe
them an omen that to harm the one on a white horse would bring her wrath
upon their families and their villages.

Captain Barlow reined in the grey on the roadside, for those that marched
were close. Now he could see, two abreast, horses that carried cavalry
men. Ten couples of the troop rode by with low-voiced exchanges of words
amongst themselves. A petty officer rode at their heels, and behind him,
on a bay Arab, whose sweated skin glistened like red wine in the
moonlight, came a _risiladar_, the commander of the troop. A little down
the road Barlow could see an undulating, swaying huge ribbon of
white-and-pink bullocks, twenty-four yoke of the tall lean-flanked
powerful _Amrit Mahal_, the breed that Hyder Ali long ago had brought on
his conquering way to the land of the Mahrattas. And beyond the
ghost-like line of white creatures was some huge thing that they drew.

The commander reined his Arab to a stand beside Barlow and saluted,
sayin