orders to one another. He, spurring like a maniac, was heading straight
for the searching party, who had formed to cut him off. He seemed to
have thrown his heart over Alwa's iron gate and to be thundering on
hell's own horse in quest of it again.

Alwa's eight slipped down the defile as quickly as phantoms would have
dared in that tricky moon-light. One of them shouted from below. Alwa
jerked the cord, and the great gate yawned, well-oiled and silent.
The oncomer raced straight for the middle of the intercepting line of
horsemen; they--knowing him by this time for no friend--started to meet
him; and Alwa's eight, unannounced and unexpected, whirled into them
from the rear.

In a second there was shouting, blind confusion--eddying and trying
to reform. The lone galloper pulled clear, and Alwa's men drove his
opponents, crupper over headstall, into a body of the main contingent
who had raced up in pursuit. They rammed the charge home, and reeled
through both detachments--then wheeled at the spur and cut their way
back again, catching up their man at the moment that his horse dropped
dead beneath him. They seized him beneath the arms and bore him through
as the great gate dropped and cut his horse in halves. Then one man took
the galloper up behind his saddle, and bore him up the hill unquestioned
until he could dismount in front of Alwa.

"Who art thou?" demanded the owner of the rock, recognizing a warrior
by his trademarks, but in no way moderating the natural gruffness of
his voice. Alwa considered that his inviolable hospitality should be too
well known and understood to call for any explanation or expression; he
would have considered it an insult to the Sikh's intelligence to have
mouthed a welcome; he let it go for granted.

"Jaidev Singh--galloper to Byng-bahadur. I bring a letter for the
Risaldar Mahommed Gunga, or for Cunnigan-sahib, whichever I can find
first."

"They are both here."

"Then my letter is for both of them."

Cunningham and Mahommed Gunga each took one step forward, and the Sikh
gave Cunningham a tiny, folded piece of paper, stuck together along
one edge with native gum. He tore it open, read it in the light of
a trooper's lantern, and then read it again aloud to Mahommed Gunga,
pitching his voice high enough for Alwa to listen if he chose.

"What are you two men doing?" ran the note. "The very worst has
happened. We all need men immediately, and I particularly need them. One
hundred t