“Nothing, sahib, nothing; he is the son of a pig, one who cannot speak truth. He utters lies as the serpent spits forth venom.” “He said something about Gamara, and I wish to know what it was.” “I said,” interrupted the cause of the discussion, “that the Sahibs who ride here so proudly, and ill-treat true believers, would find things rather different in Gamara, like their friend Firoz Sahib.” “What do you know about Firoz Sahib?” demanded Sir Dugald. “Only that he has turned Mussulman to save his life,” grinned the man. “Oh, mercy, Heaven-born, mercy!” as Saadullah and his servants fell upon him, all trying to beat him at once. “No, let him speak,” commanded Sir Dugald. “Is this true that you say?” he asked the man. “I know only that one morning Firoz Sahib was not to be found in the house that had been appointed for him, and it was said that he had insulted his Highness, and had been given his choice of Islam or death,” was the sulky answer. “Did you hear anything of this?” asked Sir Dugald of Saadullah. “It was talked of in the bazars, sahib; but many things are spoken that have no truth in them,” replied the trader deferentially. “Well, we will see you again. I would advise you to teach that fellow of yours to keep his mouth shut.” “It shall be done, sahib. He is a fool, and the grandson of a fool,” and Saadullah pursued the two officers out of his camp with profound bows. As soon as they were clear of the tents, Colin turned to Sir Dugald. “This settles it,” he said. “I shall throw up my commission and go to Gamara.” CHAPTER XVIII. THE ALLOTTED FIELD.