d as
his musket flashed and the marker signalled a bull's-eye, a great shout
arose from his compatriots.

"Shahbash! Bravo! That's a fine shot. Thou'lt surely win, Faiz."

And then the partisans of the other men tried to shout the Sikh's
friends down.

"Bah! what is that? A bull's-eye, you say. But it was an accident; the
wind carried the bullet. Allah willing, he will miss next time. Courage,
Sula; look not at the cock on his dunghill."

Similar cries, varying as the result of the shots, greeted the Sikh's
succeeding attempts. Then came Sula's turn.

"Hai! Now he shoots!" cried his friends. "What is the marker about? A
miss? Truly the jins are spiteful, the musket is bewitched. Do not lose
heart, O Sula, the sahib will give thee another musket, and then wilt
thou show thyself more than a match for that son of a pig."

And Sula, having taken another musket, fired off his six shots and
retired.

The next came along, an Afghan, with features of a markedly Semitic
cast, and with him a flock of his partisans. The same scene was enacted,
the same yells of delight and howls of derision, the same words of
flattery and of abuse--all kept within certain bounds, however, by the
presence of the sahibs.

At last it came to Ahmed's turn. The colloquy between Lumsden Sahib and
Sherdil had drawn particular attention to him, and the Pathans of the
Guides, who outnumbered men of other races in the corps, were specially
interested in the doings of this young candidate. For ten days past
Sherdil had boasted of his pupil's ability, and Sherdil having a moist
tongue, as Lumsden Sahib had put it, and being something of a favourite,
the Pathans were prepared to open their lungs in vociferous plaudits.
Ahmed fired and missed. A growl of dismay broke from the Pathans' lips;
the other men, who resented the cocksureness of Sherdil and his friends,
leapt about with shrieks of delight. Sherdil himself looked a little
blue; and as for Ahmed, he was quivering with excitement and
nervousness, as the Englishmen perceived.

"Chup! you sons of dogs!" cried Kennedy Sahib. "Let the boy have fair
play. This din of cats would spoil any man's eye. Chup! The boy has five
more shots."

And Ahmed, pulling himself together, took careful aim amid a breathless
stillness, drew the trigger--and the marker signalled a bull's-eye.

"Shahbash! Shahbash!" cried Sherdil, pirouetting like a mad fakir,
brandishing his sword, hurling abuse at the friends of the