A large and gay crowd had gathered about the course, and included every white man and woman in the station, not to speak of the thousands of Sikhs, Punjabis, Afghans, and Hindus who had assembled to witness the Englishman's sport. The 193rd Native Infantry had turned out in hundreds, keen on the victory of Markham Sahib's horse, and ready to applaud until their voices gave out. There were officers in uniform and officers without uniform; many coming from distant stations to witness the race, which was the most important in that part of the Punjab. Several of the British, and one or two of the native officers of the Ahmednuggur Irregular Cavalry, had travelled down to back Lieutenant Harrington. A wild-looking native officer of the Guides, who had come to watch Spencer Sahib win the cup, was pointed out by Jim as a celebrated robber and cut-throat, Bahram Khan by name. "Rummy beggar is Bahram Khan!" declared the captain. "Dick Turpin was an infant to him. Look how the Punjabis and Hindus are gazing at him, and how he grins back--and then they begin to shiver." "Why? Are they afraid of him?" "Rather. I'll tell you who he is afterwards." "A pleasant type of man to have in one's regiment, Ted," was Ethel's comment in a stage aside. "Disgusting!" was the laconic response. On the outskirts of the crowd several Pathan dealers were taking advantage of the presence of so many lovers of horses to sell their ponies and country-bred steeds to the unwary. Nor were the inevitable jugglers and snake-charmers wanting. The fences were stiff, even to the lad who had hunted over the best country in Cheshire, and the water-jumps were big, though no wider than some he had taken "The Padre" over during the past few days. The course was rather more than three miles, the last six hundred yards being a straight run to the winning-post. A native officer came out of the throng and caressed "The Padre". "Mind you win, Ensign Sahib," laughed Subadar Pir Baksh, "for the honour of the corps." "I will try my best, Subadar," Ted assured him; and Pir Baksh showed his even white teeth as he playfully threatened the ensign should he lose. "Now, old boy," was Ethel's greeting, "never speak to me again if our 'Padre' loses--he's the horse of the regiment, you must remember. Whatever you do don't let that horrid Guide man win. An upstart corps like that, recruited from Thugs and Dacoits, must never get the better of the old-established 193rd." "'Horrid Guide man' indeed!" laughed Jim. "Spencer's one of the best men I know; and remember, my lady, that you will be a Guide woman very soon." Changing the subject he added: "You're only fifth favourite, Ted." "Didn't know I was so high as that. Who's favourite?" "The 'horrible Guide' horse and the 'Duck's' mount, 'Flying Fox', are equal, the Ahmednuggur comes next, and you are fifth."