The great black charger, the glory of the squadron and of his owner's heart, was in a perilous case. So securely had he entangled himself in the head-rope that, despite the freedom of his heels, and spasmodic efforts to regain his feet, he remained pinned to earth, not many yards from where the fire was raging,--his fear and misery increased by wind-blown fragments of lighted straw, by the roar and crackle of the burning pile. Desmond saw at a glance that his rescue might prove a dangerous business, but Rajinder Singh was beside him now, still hopeful of turning him from his purpose. "Hazur--consider--the horse is mine----" "No more words!" Desmond broke in sharply. "Stay where you are!" He plunged forthwith into the stinging, blinding smoke; dexterously avoiding the hoofs of Sher Dil, subduing his terror with hand and voice, though himself half choked, and constantly forced to close his eyes at the most critical moments; while the task of avoiding the burning fragments that fell about him seemed in itself to demand undivided attention. Rajinder Singh, stationed at the nearest possible point, anxiously watched his Captain's progress; and here Paul Wyndham joined him hurriedly. "Who is that?" he asked. "The Captain Sahib?" "To my shame, your honour speaks truth," the old man made answer humbly. "His heart was set to do this thing himself----" "Have no fear," Wyndham reassured him kindly; and, with a sharp contraction of heart, ran to his friend's assistance. Desmond had already stooped to slit the rope that pressed so cruelly against the charger's throat; and, as Wyndham reached him, the animal gave a last convulsive plunge; threw out his forelegs in an ecstasy of freedom; and struck his deliverer full on the shoulder. "Damnation!" Desmond muttered, as he fell to the ground, and Sher Dil staggered, panting, to his feet. Rajinder Singh sprang forward with a smothered cry. But, quick as lightning, Desmond was up again, and had secured the morsel of rope dangling by the horse's head. Only his left arm hung limp and helpless, the droop of the shoulder telling its own tale. "Collar-bone," he said laconically, in reply to the mute anxiety of Paul's face. "Same old spot again!" "It might just as well have been--your head," Paul answered, with a twist of his sensitive mouth. He had not quite got over his few moments of acute suspense. Desmond laughed. "So it might, you old pessimist! But it wasn't! Here you are, Ressaldar Sahib! Never have I seen a horse so set on killing himself. But it was needful to disappoint him on your account." Rajinder Singh, who had come forward, plucking the muslin scarf from his shoulders for a bandage, saluted in acknowledgment of the words. "How is it possible to make thanks, Hazur...?" Desmond laid a hand on the man's shoulder.