But as we reached the front, the distant figure held up its turban in a peculiar way, and I exclaimed-- "Dost!" The order was given to advance; and before we had gone far, the man, who was hurrying to meet us, signed to us to bear off to the left; and five minutes later, when we met, he pointed to a beautiful patch of forest, into which we filed. "Well, Dost, what now?" said Brace, gloomily. "They are halting, sahib, only a short distance in front." "Is there a town there?" "No, sahib; only a large village at the end of a wide plain. We can get round to the end, and perhaps see them." "But are you sure it is the party we are tracking?" I cried excitedly. "Oh yes, sahib. There are all the horses and guns. They were drawn up in front when I came away." "Ready to start once more," said Brace, eagerly. "Let's get on and see if anything can be done." Leaving Haynes in charge of the men who were allowed to rest in the grateful shade of the forest edge, Brace called to me to accompany him, and with Dost for our guide, we threaded our way among the trees for nearly an hour, when Dost suddenly stopped short, as a shout fell upon our ears, followed by a familiar trampling sound, with the jingle of accoutrements, and rattle of gun and limber. "They are going," said Brace, quickly; and hurrying forward, he made for a spot where the forest looked lighter; and in another minute we had to stoop down and shelter ourselves, for where we were the trees ended, and a wide plain spread out far as eye could reach, while on the right was a large village with a temple just on the banks of a river, whose bright waters looked welcome in that thirsty land. But we had no eyes for river or plain with such a scene between us and the village as greeted us; for there, in very fair order, thanks to our highly trained horses, was our little battery of six six-pounders, with their limbers and mounted men complete; but, in place of the English gunners and drivers in their laced jackets, breeches and boots, brass helmets, and long scarlet horsehair plumes, the battery was manned by dark-faced men in white, with turbans to match, and under the command of a noble-looking chief in a turban that flashed in the sunlight with gold or gems; while, even at the distance we were, we could make out that the man in gay shawls and rich stuffs, who waved his sword as he cantered along upon a magnificent arab, was Barton's old syce, Ny Deen. "The scoundrel!" muttered Brace, whose hand played with the hilt of his pistol as we crouched there, and I felt that if ever he came within range, a bullet would lay him low. As the troop went along at a trot, a thrill ran through me, and I felt an intense longing to be mounted once more in my place; and from that moment shared more intensely Brace's longing to recover the guns.