On the second day of the investment he had scribbled the chit in his pocket-book, torn out the leaf, and given it to the dafadar with orders to leave the tower by night and make all speed to Mr. Appleton’s mine. Ganda Singh had crept out and stolen away to the rear, but his movements were detected, and he had run the gauntlet of a fusillade. One shot had taken effect, but the wound was slight, and he had pressed on, eluded the enemy’s pickets, and after a long round gained the road that led ultimately to the mine. He had carried very little food with him, and was almost exhausted, rather by fatigue than by loss of blood, when, about two miles from the mine, he stumbled upon a small bivouac of ten or a dozen men. Luckily he had heard their horses stamping and champing their bits while still at some distance from them, and was careful to approach them warily. Having no means of telling whether they were friends or foes, he decided to slip past them quietly in the darkness. He could barely drag himself over the last mile, and on reaching the platform, being thoroughly worn out, he stumbled, and only saved himself from falling into the river by clutching at the girder as he fell. "How long have you been marching?" asked Bob. "Three days, sahib." "And how far have you come?" "Thirty kos,[#] sahib. It was bad marching, but I came as fast as I could." [#] About forty-five miles. "It was good of Endicott Sahib to send you, but why? We are far away from the disturbances on the Afghan border." "Ah yes, sahib, but there is talk of great doings towards the north-west. They say in the bazaars that the Mongols have made friends with the Afghans, and offered to share the plunder with them when they make their raid into the Punjab. It is foolishness, as Endicott Sahib said: but the badmashes will do much evil, and the sahib said that Appleton Sahib ought to know, so that he might escape to India while there is yet time." "And what about the sahib himself? He will break through, of course?" "Hai! The sahib will not leave the wounded." "He can hold out?" "Who shall say? The sahib has little food, and the water of the well in the tower is foul. The sahib will assuredly fight as long as he has one cartridge left in his revolver; then.... It is written, sahib; but the huzurs know how to die." "Good heavens!" ejaculated Lawrence. "Can’t he send for help?" "The nearest post is a hundred miles away, sahib. There would not be time. In one day more, or perhaps two, all the food will be gone. No help could come to him for a week--no force strong enough to drive away the dogs that beset him." "Why did he think we could escape, then?" "Because the road is still open, sahib. The tribes are not yet moving towards the frontier, and the hill-tower is far to the west of the road. If the sahibs start at once there is just a chance that they may save themselves--as one leaves a house before the flood comes up and washes it away."