ounted sepoys
waited behind Jaimihr in four long, straight lines. Jaimihr himself,
with a heavy-hilted cimeter held upward at the "carry," was about four
charger lengths beyond the iron screen, ready to spur through. Close by
him were a dozen, waiting to ram a big beam in and hold up the gate
when it had opened. And, full-tilt down the gorge, flash-tipped like
a thunderbolt, gray-turbaned, reckless, whirling death ripped down on
them.

They caught sound of the hammering hoofs too late. Two gongs boomed in
the rock. The windlass creaked. Five seconds too late Jaimihr gathered
up his reins, spurred, wheeled, and shouted to the men behind him.
The great gate rose, like the jaws of a hungry monster, and
the nine--streaking too fast down far too steep a slide to stop
themselves--burst straight out under it and struck, as a wind blast
smites a poppy-field.

Jaimihr was borne backward--carried off his horse. Alwa and the first
four rode him down, and crashed through the four-deep line beyond; the
second four pounced on him, gathered him, and followed. Before the lines
could form again the whole nine wheeled--as a wind-eddy spins on its own
axis--and burst through back again, the horses racing neck and neck, and
the sabres cutting down a swath to screech and swear and gurgle in among
the trampled garden stuff.

They came back in a line, all eight abreast, Alwa leading only by a
length. At the opening, four horses--two on either side--slid, rump to
the ground, until their noses touched the rock. Alwa and four dashed
through and under; the rest recovered, spun on their haunches, and
followed. The gongs boomed again down in the belly of the rock, and the
gate clanged shut.

"That was good," said Mahommed Gunga quietly. "Now, watch again!"

Almost before the words had left his lips, a hail of lead barked out
from twenty vantage-points, and the smoke showed where some forty men
were squinting down steel barrels, shooting as rapidly and as rottenly
as natives of India usually do. They did little execution; but before
Alwa and his eight had climbed up the steep track to the summit, patting
their horses' necks and reviling Jaimihr as they came, the cavalry below
had scampered out of range, leaving their dead and wounded where they
lay.

"How is that for a start, sahib?" demanded Mahommed Gunga exultantly,
as two men deposited the dishevelled Jaimihr on his feet, and the Prince
glared around him like a man awaking from a dream.