It is said that the greatest commanders have felt depressed rather than exalted after a victory; so that, remembering the hardships and anxieties of the past twenty-four hours, one can sympathize with Lawrence Appleton. It did not occur to him that he had come through his recent ordeal with much credit, and he was quite unaware that the Pathans ahead were discussing him as they rode, summing him up, and deciding that the chota sahib was a first-rate fighting man. After riding at a trot for about half a mile, Lawrence said: "Now I’ll get off and walk, Fyz Ali. The pony’s lagging." "Not so, sahib," replied the man. "I will walk; the sahib is used to a softer life." "The more reason why I should harden myself." "That is true, sahib; but it is foolishness to yoke a calf to an ox-wagon." By which Lawrence understood that this stalwart man regarded him as still an ungrown boy. He made no more objection; Fyz Ali dismounted, and kept pace with him over the rugged ground to which they had now come. Thus the little party marched for another mile. They went for the most part in single file, the track only rarely widening so much as to give them room to ride abreast. It was at one of such broader stretches that a sudden demand was made upon Lawrence’s quickness and resource. He was riding in front with two of the Pathans; the other two mounted men were a few yards behind, with Fyz Ali on foot between them. Quite suddenly, about two hundred yards ahead, there came into view from round a high rock a band of at least a score of men, marching towards them. Lawrence had been expecting to meet the Pathan reinforcements from the mine, and he might at the first moment have mistaken the strangers but for a savage yell from the men at his side. Then he recognized in a flash that they were Kalmucks. Both parties had momentarily halted; each was as much surprised as the other. Then, as Lawrence saw some of the Kalmucks lifting rifles to their shoulders, he became instantly alive to the situation. Without a moment’s hesitation he dug his heels into the flanks of his pony, and, shouting to his men to come on, he rode straight at the enemy. It was the psychological moment. The Kalmucks were apparently without a leader; or their leader, if they had one, was a shade less quick-witted than the Englishman. With a spirited captain the warlike Pathans will go anywhere and do anything. Responding to his call with a true mountaineer’s yell the men urged their steeds to a gallop, and swooped down upon the still hesitating enemy.