But Ahmed galloped past, throwing a mere word of greeting to his comrades. Nor did he draw rein until he reached the commandant's quarters. Then his story was quickly told. Five minutes afterwards a half-troop rode out under Lieutenant Hawes, Ahmed leading the way. When they reached the crest there was no sign of the mutineers. They had utterly vanished off the plain. Riding down to the nullah, they found the palki-wallahs lying fast asleep in the shade of the bushes where Ahmed had left them, and the missy sahib asleep in the palki, grasping the knife. Ahmed flung himself from his horse, kicked the bearers awake, and cut their bonds. Meanwhile Lieutenant Hawes was trying to awaken the girl, speaking to her quietly so as not to startle her. His low tones making no impression, he touched her lightly on the arm. She sprang up with a shriek, lifting the knife. Then, seeing an English face, and hearing an English voice, she flung down the weapon and, to Lieutenant Hawes' amazement, fairly flung herself into his arms. "Poor child! You are safe now," he said. "Here, you," he cried sharply to the palki-wallahs, "get to your poles; quickly!" The four men hastened to obey, and the party set off to return to the camp. "Your nobility will remember the bakshish," said one of them to Ahmed as they started. "Chup! Am I not one of Lumsden Sahib's Guides?" was the answer. Later in the day, Ahmed told the whole story in detail to the group of officers. The missy sahib had already given them her version of it, and had indeed sung the praises of the young Guide, and asked Captain Daly to reward him handsomely. Daly, however, knew that the proud native of North-west Hindustan is a good deal more sensitive in matters of this kind than the average man of the plains, and while giving Ahmed unstinted praise, he refrained from offering any tangible recompense. "I am proud to have you in the corps," he said. "The matter will not be forgotten, and when we have finished the march, and have a little time to rest, I will give you a sheep so that you may feast your friends." Praise from the sahib was reward enough to the men of the Guides. And Sherdil, who had heard the story from Ahmed previously, was envious, and bemoaned his ill-luck in missing the opportunity which had fallen to his friend. "May water never flow through that accursed nullah!" he cried. "None of us were able to leap it; it took me half-an-hour to get my horse out of it, and the others had to go a great way round about. And then we were recalled, but we returned later and sought you, and found, not you, but a dog of a Hindu lying with a cut in his shoulder, and we finished what you had left undone." Savagery was in the blood of these men. The butchery of a wounded man gave them no compunction, and Ahmed, who had grown up among them, was as ignorant as they themselves of the chivalry which bids an Englishman spare his beaten foe.