in the uniform of a captain of Cossacks, looked fiercely at
his companion and then at the beacon.

"Look," he said, "look and listen!" And sure enough in the morning
stillness came the sound as of a watchword cried from post to post.

"That," said he, "is the morning signal of an awakened empire and the
final proof of our failure."

"It was no fault of mine," said Fazir Khan sourly. "I did as I was
commanded, and lo! when I come I find an army in confusion and the
frontier guarded." The chief spoke with composure, but he had in his
heart an uneasy consciousness that he had had some share in this
undoing.

Marka looked down at a body which lay wrinkled across the path. It was
trodden all but shapeless, the poor face was unrecognizable, the legs
were scrawled like a child's letters. Only one hand with a broken gold
signet-ring remained to tell of the poor inmate of the clay.

The Cossack looked down on the dead with a scowling face. "Curse
him--curse him eternally. Who would have guessed that this fool, this
phrasing fool, would have spoiled our plans? Curse his conscience and
his honour, and God pity him for a fool! I must return to my troops,
for this is no place to linger in." The man saw his work of years
spoiled in a night, and all by the agency of a single adventurer. He
saw his career blighted, his reputation gone. It is not to be wondered
at if he was bitter.

He turned to go, and in leaving pushed the dead man over with his foot.
He saw the hand and the broken ring.

"This thing was once a gentleman," he said, and he went down the pass.

But Fazir Khan remained by the body. He remembered his guest of two
days before, and he cursed himself for underrating this wandering
Englishman. He saw himself in evil case. His chances of spoil and
glory had departed. He foresaw expeditions of reprisal, and the
Bada-Mawidi hunted like partridges upon the mountains. He had staked his
all on a desperate chance, and this one man had been his ruin. For a
moment the barbarian came out, and in a sudden ferocity he kicked the
dead.

But as he looked again he was moved to a juster appreciation.

"This thing was a man," he said.

Then stooping he dipped his finger in blood and touched his forehead.
"This man," he said, "was of the race of kings."

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HALF-HEARTED***

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