roopers now would be better than a thousand men a month from
now. Hurry, and send word by bearer. S. F. BYNG."

"How soon can you start back?" asked Cunningham.

"The minute I am provided with a horse, sahib."

Cunningham turned to Alwa.

"Will you be kind enough to feed him, Alwa-sahib?"

Alwa resented the imputation against his hospitality instantly.

"Nay, I was waiting for his money in advance!" he laughed. "Food waits,
thou. Thou art a Sikh--thou eatest meat--meat, then, is ready."

The Sikh, or at least the true Sikh, is not hampered by a list of caste
restrictions. All of his precepts, taken singly or collectively, bid him
be nothing but a man, and no law forbids him accept the hospitality of
soldiers of another creed. So Jaidev Singh walked off to feed on curried
beef that would have made a Hindoo know himself for damned. Cunningham
then turned on Alwa.

"Now is the time, Alwa-sahib," he said in a level voice. "My party can
start off with this man and our answer, if your answer is no. If your
answer is yes, then the Sikh can bear that answer for us."

"You would none of you ride half a mile alive!" laughed Alwa.

"I none the less require an answer, Alwa-sahib."

Alwa stared hard at him. That was the kind of talk that went straight to
his soldier heart. He loved a man who held to his point in the teeth of
odds. The odds, it seemed to him, were awfully against Cunningham.

"So was thy father," he said slowly. "My cousin said thou wast thy
father's son!"

"I require an answer by the time that the Sikh has finished eating,"
said Cunningham. "Otherwise, Alwa-sabib, I shall regret the necessity of
foregoing further hospitality at your hands."

"Bismillah! Am I servant here or master?" wondered Alwa, loud enough for
all his men to hear. Then he thought better of his dignity. "Sahib,"
he insisted, "I will not talk here before my men. We will have another
conference."

"I concede you ten minutes," said Cunningham, preparing to follow him,
and followed in turn by Mohammed Gunga.

"Now, swore the Risaldar into his beard, we shall see the reaching of
decisions! Now, by the curse of the sack of Chitor we shall know who is
on whose side, or I am no Rangar, nor the son of one!"

"I have a suggestion to make, sahib," smiled Alwa, closing the door of
the rock-hewn chamber on the three of them.

"Hear mine first!" said Cunningham, with a hint of iron in his voice.

"Ay! Hear his first! Hear Chota-Cunnigan-ba