“Thanks,” said King, shaking hands with him, and then turning away to unlock the carriage doors that held his prisoners in. They were baying now like wolves to be free, and they surged out, like wolves from a cage, to clamor round the Rangar, pawing him and struggling to be first to ask him questions. “Nay, ye mountain people; nay!” he laughed. “I, too, am from the plains! What do I know of your families or of your feuds? Am I to be torn to pieces to make a meal?” At that Ismail interfered, with the aid of an ash pick-handle, chance-found beside the track. “Hill-bastards!” he howled at them, beating at them as if they were sheaves and his cudgel were a flail. “Sons of nameless mothers! Forgotten of God! Shameless! Brood of the evil one! Hands off!” King had to stop him, not that he feared trouble, for they did not seem to resent either abuse or cudgeling in the least--and that in itself was food for thought; but broken shoulders are no use for carrying loads. Laughing as if the whole thing was the greatest joke imaginable, Rewa Gunga fell into stride beside King and led him away in the direction of some tents. “She is up the Pass ahead of us,” he announced. “She was in the deuce of a hurry, I can assure you. She wanted to wait and meet you, but matters were too jolly well urgent, and we shall have our bally work cut out to catch her, you can bet! But I have everything ready--tents and beds and stores--everything!” King looked over his shoulder to make sure that Ismail was bringing the little leather bag along. “So have I,” he said quietly. “I have horses,” said Rewa Gunga, “and mules and--” “How did she travel up the Khyber?” King asked him, and the Rangar spared him a curious sidewise glance. “On a horse. You should have seen the horse!” “What escort had she?” “She?” Rewa Gunga chuckled and then suddenly grew serious. “The 'Hills' are her escort, King sahib. She is mistress in the 'Hills.' There isn't a murdering ruffian who would not lie down and let her walk on him! She rode away alone on a thoroughbred mare and she jolly well left me the mare's double on which to follow her. Come and look.” Not far from where the tents had been pitched in a cluster a string of horses winnied at a picket rope. King saw the two good horses ready for himself, and ten mules beside them that would have done credit to any outfit. But at the end of the line, pawing at the trampled grass, was a black mare that made his eyes open wide. Once in a hundred years or so a viceroy's cup, or a Derby is won by an animal that can stand and look and move as that mare did. “Just watch!” the Rangar boasted; hooking up the bit and throwing off the blanket. And as he mounted into the native-made rough-hide saddle a shout went up from the fort and native officers and half the soldiery came out to watch the poetry of motion.