gate. Well, well, well! And I've lived to see it! Poor
old Barnum, to have carried around a tinted pachyderm! He's white as
any elephant flesh could be. Those dancing chaps are going in, too.
What caste would those dancers be, Ramabai?"

"Pariahs, quite possibly; probably brigands."

The rim of the sun was sinking rapidly as Bruce drew his elephant to a
halt before the gate of the white walled city. The guard ran out,
barring the way.

"I am Ramabai, a friend of Bala Khan. I am come to pay him a visit.
Direct me to his house or his palace."

The authority in Ramabai's voice was sufficient for the guard, who gave
the necessary directions. The party continued on into town. It was an
odd place for a walled city. There wasn't a tree about, not a sign of
boscage, except some miles away where the hills began to slope upward.
Bruce wondered what the inhabitants fed upon. It was more like an
Egyptian village than anything he had ever seen in India. Bruce asked
for his rifle, which he laid carelessly in the crook of his arm. One
never could tell.

Presently they came upon a group in the center of which were the
dancers at their vocations. They ceased their mad whirlings at the
sight of the two elephants. There were nine of these men, fierce of
eye and built muscularly. No effeminate Hindus here, mused Bruce, who
did not like the looks of them at all. The surrounding natives stared
with variant emotions. Many of them had never seen a white man before.
Their gaze centered upon the colonel. Kathlyn was almost as dark as
Pundita, and as for Bruce, only his European dress distinguished him
from Ramabai, for there was scarcely a shade difference in color. But
the colonel, having been weeks in prison, was as pale as alabaster and
his hair shone like threads of silver.

On through the narrow streets, sometimes the sides of the elephants
scraping against the mud and plaster of the buildings, and one could
easily look into the second stories. No one seemed hostile; only a
natural curiosity was evinced by those standing in doorways or leaning
out of windows.

The house of Bala Khan was not exactly a palace, but it was of
respectable size. A high wall surrounded the compound. There was a
gateway, open at this moment. A servant ran out and loudly demanded
what was wanted.

"Say to your master, Bala Khan, that Ramabai, son of Maaho Singh, his
old friend, awaits with friendly greetings."

"Kit," whispered Ka