ack that wound along at the base of the
hills, for the undulations of the country would baffle the pursuers, who
could not press on at their utmost speed for fear of a fall. Every now
and then he had to pull in his horse to avoid a stumble, and his care
enabled the enemy for a mile or two to keep him in sight. They could not
circumvent him, for he knew every foot of the hills, and could turn off
in any direction at need, with perfect confidence in his ability to
elude them. They were bound to follow in his tracks. So for some time
the chase continued, the distance between pursuers and pursued scarcely
varying. At length Ahmed, feeling that the hills had served their turn
in tiring the horses of Dilasah and his troop, swept down into the plain
and gave Ruksh his head. The gallant animal flew on at a bounding pace.
In half-an-hour the pursuers were hopelessly distanced. Coming to a
point from which he could see a long stretch of level ground behind him,
Ahmed pulled up, turned in his saddle, and narrowly scanned the course
of his flight. There in the far distance were his pursuers, but riding
the other way. They had given up the chase.

CHAPTER THE SEVENTH

Jan Larrens

It was early morning when Ahmed, riding through the level plain, among
gardens which, though it was autumn, still scented the air, came to the
cantonments outside the walls of Peshawar. What he saw filled him with
amazement. The ground was studded with tents, amid which soldiers of all
races--tall bearded Sikhs, active little Gurkhas, red-coated
Englishmen--swarmed like bees in a hive. And there in the distance he
sees a lady galloping, followed by a sais, and she is not veiled, as
were all the women in Shagpur, save those of low caste; Ahmed had rarely
seen the faces of Rahmut Khan's wives for a year or two. And here comes
a carriage drawn by two horses, and in it are a lady, she too unveiled,
and a Feringhi man in spotless white clothes. And as it dashes past him,
the lady turns to the officer at her side and says--

"What a fine-looking young fellow! Who is he, Fred?"

"He? A Pathan from the hills, Alice, and a most accomplished brigand,
you may be sure."

Ahmed hears the words, and though he does not understand them, they set
him thrilling with a strange excitement. Long-forgotten scenes are
coming back to him; he remembers ladies just like this one--ladies who
used to speak in the same clear low tones, and men, sometimes in red
coats, s