Fyz Ali muttered between his teeth, but obeyed. He tore off the man’s coat; it was dripping wet; the Kalmuck was one of those who had sprung into the river, and he had clambered up the bank in the nick of time to serve the quick-witted Pathan as a screen. With a few strokes of his tulwar Fyz Ali slit the coat into shreds, with which he bound the trembling man’s hands together. Then, striking him heavily on the face--the Pathan is not chivalrous towards his enemies--he hauled him to the top of a rock, and left him there. Lawrence and the two Pathans then hastened back to the place where they had left the others. These had given their dead comrade burial in the river. Then all resumed their march. They looked back whenever they reached a spot where they could get a view of the track behind them, but there was no sign of pursuit. "They must have come over the hills in the night," said Lawrence, walking beside Fyz Ali, whom he had insisted on remounting. "Where does the hill-path join the track?" "I know not, sahib," replied the man. "The Kalmucks know the path: it is their country." "Well, keep your eyes open as we go, and see if you can find it. We may as well know." They scanned the hill-side narrowly, and about twenty minutes later Lawrence noticed a narrow cleft in the precipice above the track which might possibly be the lower end of the hill-path. He stopped and examined the ground at the entrance, but it was so hard that the skin boots of the Kalmucks could have left no trace on it. Had they been mounted, the hoof marks would have been easily discoverable. Lawrence glanced up the winding cleft. It seemed an unlikely enough passage-way; indeed, at a height of several hundred feet above the track it appeared to come abruptly to an end. Lawrence deliberated for a few moments whether to climb and satisfy himself one way or the other; but decided that he had better not delay. Ten minutes later they met the reinforcements from the mine. The men had heard firing in the distance and hurried on at full speed. On learning from their comrades of what had happened, they were eager to push on and annihilate the surviving Kalmucks, and one of them, when Lawrence refused to go back, muttered under his breath that the Englishman was afraid. Fyz Ali caught the words, and turned fiercely on the man. "I’ll slit your throat if you talk foolishness, Hosein," he said. "The chota sahib is a man; get that into your silly head. Did he not fight at the bridge? And when we met those Kalmuck pigs, did he not in a twinkling see what was to be done, and ride straight at them, cheering as the sahibs always do? And when I was left behind, he came back for me, though the dogs were hidden among the rocks and had just killed Ayoub. He is a man, I tell you; mashallah! what he says is good, and what he does is better, and I will cut your hand off if you do not swear to follow wherever he leads."