waited the signal, "All's clear," before
entering the defile.

In due time it came; and they moved on between the frowning cliffs at
a pace as rapid as the exigencies of the situation would permit.

Here night fronted them, dank and chill. It was as if the clock had
been put back four hours. Only a jagged strip of sky, between
projecting crags, announced the advent of day. No living thing seemed
to inhabit this region of perpetual twilight. At intervals a gnarled
and twisted bush grew out of a cleft, lifting spectral foliage toward
where the sun should be, and was not. Silence pervaded the dusk like a
living presence; unseen, but so poignantly felt that the whisper of
the stream and the crunch of shingle under the horses' hoofs seemed an
affront to the ghostly spirit of the place; and the sowars, when
exchanging remarks among themselves, instinctively refrained from
raising their voices.

Desmond, closely followed by his trumpeter, rode ahead of the
troopers, chafing at their leaden-footed progress. A hand-gallop would
have been too slow for the speed of his thoughts, tormented as he was
by anxious wondering what had become of the Boy; while his ears were
strained to catch the first sounds of contest from the heights, which
were already widening out a little, and beginning to slope towards
lower ground.

Sounds came at length--harsh and startling;--the unmistakable note of
the jezail; answering shots from his own men;--proofs incontestable
that a sharp engagement was in progress up above.

"Ambuscaded,--by Heaven!" was Desmond's instant thought. Mercifully
the exit was already in sight; and flinging brisk instructions to the
Ressaldar to follow him closely with a hundred sowars, leaving the
remainder to take charge of the horses, and hold the opening till
further orders, Desmond made for it full tilt, spurring Badshah Pasand
as he had never been spurred in all his days. On dashing out into the
sunlight he was greeted by a rattle of musketry from behind a tumbled
mass of rock; and a dozen bullets buzzed about him like bees.

One riddled his helmet, stirring his hair as it passed. A second
struck his left shoulder, inflicting a flesh wound of which he was not
even conscious at the moment; for Badshah Pasand lunged ominously
forward; swayed, staggered; and with a sound between a cough and a
groan, fell headlong, flinging his rider clear on to the rough upward
slope.

Luckily for him, Desmond pitched on to his soun