ble as he could.

An hour or two afterwards he heard the distant sounds of a body of men
approaching. Were they fellow-villagers of the men he had punished, on
the hunt for him? Devoutly he hoped that the camel would not betray him
by a grunt. The sounds drew nearer--voices, the tramp of feet on the
road. They passed. For the time he was safe. Tired as he was, he durst
not now go to sleep. The men might return; an unlucky grunt might bring
them upon him. In anxious suspense he waited. The hours are long to one
who waits. At last he heard faint sounds from beyond him. Men were
approaching him again. He stood, grasping his weapons. The sounds grew
louder. The marching men were now abreast of him. If they had been his
comrades of the Guides they would find the tracks of his camel even in
the dark. But they passed; the sound of their marching grew fainter; and
at last Ahmed's uneasiness left him, and, wrapping himself in his cloak,
he lay down to sleep.

CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH

Kaluja Dass, Khansaman

On that evening, about the time when Ahmed had his little fight with the
villagers, Kaluja Dass, an Oudh man of pleasant aspect and grave
deportment, was preparing a meal for his master in a substantial house
lying some little distance in the rear of the Chandni Chauk--Silver
Street--the long straight thoroughfare leading from the Lahore gate to
the king's palace in Delhi. His brows were drawn down, a deep vertical
furrow divided his forehead; he wore a look of worry and embarrassment
which accorded ill with his position as khansaman to a subahdar in the
army of the king. But the subahdar had announced that he would bring
guests home to sup with him, and Kaluja was at his wits' end to provide
the meal. The subahdar commanded a regiment, but neither he nor his men
had had any pay for weeks. In spite of his impecuniosity, the officer
always expected his appetite to be appeased, and was wont to give the
rein to a very abusive tongue if the bill of fare was not to his liking.

Kaluja Dass had done his best, but really, without money it was
impossible to persuade the merchants in the bazar, however loyal they
were, that an officer of the king must be suitably fed. The khansaman
had done his best, but he had to confess to himself, as he viewed the
dishes, that the supper was not worthy even of a jamadar.

The room in which the meal was set was a large one on the first floor of
a house which had once belonged to a princ