Owen nodded. Food was urgently required, and each day one of the officers who were travelling through with the troops was sent out to gather what he could. It was Owen's turn to-day, and self-respect demanded that he should not return empty-handed. He swung himself into his saddle and put his heels into his horse's flanks, setting him at a canter along the track, Mulha being just behind. They had arrived within a few yards of the castle, a very small affair as it proved, when there was a shout, a dozen loud reports, and as many bullets came screaming about their ears. Then to their amazement a troop of wild horsemen burst from a thick cover of trees some three hundred yards away, and with tulwars brandished above their heads came dashing towards them. At the same instant a loud call was blown upon some instrument within the castle, and a dishevelled figure appeared above the gateway. "We were attacked early this morning, and only saw you a moment before," the man called out in Mahratti. "Will you enter? You will be cut to pieces if you attempt to ride away." Owen did not hesitate. As the bullets sang about his ears, and the horsemen thundered out from behind the tope of trees, he stood up in his stirrups and surveyed them with every sign of amazement. But the man's voice and the weird call from the castle roused him. Digging spurs into the animal he rode, he galloped right up to the door and thundered upon it with the butt of his pistol. "Open!" he shouted. "Quick, or we shall be taken!" They heard the rasping of bolts, low voices, and the excited shouts of the native above. Then one of the massive doors was dragged back and they rode in. A glance showed a hollow square, with a residence of small proportions built against one wall. There was a path constructed around the summit of the walls, and on this and in the square were some thirty peons, or husbandmen, all armed with swords or matchlocks. Owen swung himself from his saddle and raced up a flight of open steps to the wall above. The advancing horsemen were close upon them, dashing pell-mell against the still open gate. "Close it quietly," he shouted. "Let all those not engaged with the gate come up here. Now, the men who have guns must get ready to fire. But not a shot till I give the word. Bear that in mind. Not a shot!" The few weeks during which he had been in India had given him a wonderful air of authority, and had accustomed him to the natives. And the surprise of the peons and their ruler was immense as he quietly took the command and addressed them in their own language. A moment before there had been every sign of impending panic. But as Owen drew his pistol again and leaned over the parapet, and Mulha followed suit, the peons came racing up to the walls, priming their weapons as they ran, and stood there awaiting the word from the young white leader who had so suddenly and unexpectedly appeared. CHAPTER X A Mahratta Stronghold