“Try and take you back to your own folk, if we can find a way in, or if you can show us one.” She was clearly relieved at this, I could see. “But don’t worry about that for a bit. Here’s food coming. When you’ve eaten and feel stronger, we’ll talk about it.” Forsyth reappeared, carrying our cherished bazaar tea-tray, with some food on it, and, propping the girl up on the pillows, proceeded to feed her. She tried to take the cup herself, but her wrists were still too stiff, and he had to help her. When she had finished, there was a little more colour in her cheeks. “Pass me those brushes,” said Forsyth. I passed them over, and he brushed out her hair, and made it into two plaits in a notably skilful manner, I thought. “He’s a good nurse; isn’t he?” said I. She smiled wanly at him. “Hasn’t she topping hair?” he said. “Real Titian red. Reminds me of some one I used to know.” Every pretty girl reminds Forsyth of some one he used to know. I suppose that’s why he escaped unmarried. There’s a certain safety in numbers. When he had finished, the girl said that it was time my face was done. “Just going to now. You rest a little and then we’ll come back.” He smoothed out the blankets and slipped another pillow under her head. “Now come along outside, Harry, and let’s have a look at that face of yours.” He picked up the medicine-chest as he spoke, and I followed him out of the tent, where he called Firoz for a basin of water. Then, pulling off my extemporized bandage, he cleaned up my face, which was getting moderately painful. “A fairly big gash, Harry. You’ll wear your face in a sling for some days to come. Now hold steady. I’m going to hurt a bit.” He did. “There, that’s done,” he said at last, reaching for a roll of lint. “It’ll stop hurting presently; it’s a fairly clean cut, though deep. They keep their arrows sharp, which is a blessing. That cut the girl’s got might have been done with a razor.” He was twisting a bandage round my head as he spoke. “Well, now, we’d better go and ask the girl what’s been happening,” I said, as he finished and began putting his things away. “Yes. But first I’ll tell Firoz to get ready. I’ll tell him to pack up some food for Wrexham and Payindah; they’ll want something up there. The gorge must be perishing cold by now. It’s none too warm even at midday.” When we had given Firoz his instructions, we went back to the tent, and sat down on Wrexham’s bedding next to the girl, who had been put into mine. She was looking better already from the food and the warmth. “Now will you tell us one or two things about what’s happened?” I said. “Are the people in the gate people you’re at war with, or who are they?” “They are Shamans, a tribe who live round the gate. They are not yet at war with us, though my father expects war some day. They captured me when I was stopping with an old chief, who is a friend of my father’s, just outside our country.”