iron gate below Alwa's eyrie there were some of
Jaimihr's cavalry nosing about among the trampled gardens for the dead
and wounded they had left there earlier in the afternoon. They ceased
searching, and formed up to intercept whoever it might be who rode in
such a hurry. Above them, on the overhanging ramparts, there was quick
discussion, and one man left his post hurriedly.

"A horseman from the West!" he announced, breaking in on Alwa's privacy
without ceremony.

"One?"

"One only."

"For us or them?"

"I know not, sahib."

Alwa--glad enough of the relief from puzzling his brain--ran to the
rampart and looked long at the moving dot that was coming noisily toward
his fastness but that gave no sign of its identity or purpose.

"Whoever he is can see them," he vowed. "The moon shines full on them.
Either he is a man of theirs or else a madman!"

He watched for five more minutes without speaking. Cunningham and
Mahommed Gunga, coming out at last in search of him, saw the strained
figures of the garrison peering downward through the yellow moon
rays, and took stand on either side of him to gaze, too, in spellbound
silence.

"If he is their man," said Alwa presently, "he will turn now. He will
change direction and ride for the main body of them yonder. He can see
them now easily. Yes. See. He is their man!"

On a horse that staggered gamely--silhouetted and beginning to show
detail in the yellow light--a man whose nationality or caste could not
be recognized rode straight for the bivouacking cavalry, and a swarm of
them rode out at a walk to meet him.

The tension on the ramparts was relaxed then. As a friend in direst need
the man would have been welcome. As one of enemy, with a message for
them, however urgent, he was no more than an incident.

"By Allah!" roared Alwa suddenly. "That is no man of theirs! Quick! To
the wheels! Man the wheels! Eight men to horse!"

He took the cord himself, to send the necessary signal down into the
belly of the rock. From his stables, where men and horses seemed to
stand ready day and night, ten troopers cantered out, scattering
the sparks, the whites of their horses' eyes and their drawn blades
gleaming; without another order they dipped down the breakneck gorge,
to wait below. The oncoming rider had wheeled again; he had caught the
cavalry, that rode to meet him, unawares. They were not yet certain
whether he was friend or foe, and they were milling in a bunch, shouting