"I? I knew him well, and so did Hira Singh, my brother. When the English fought the Afghans, nearly twenty years ago, we were at Peshawur in the Sikh army under Avitabile. The Sikh government had granted you Feringhis a passage through the Punjab, but we Sikh soldiers preferred our old enemies the Afghans, and we refused to fight on your side. We were ready to eat up your Khyber column in those days, and would have done it too, but for Henry Larens Sahib, who won our hearts, so that we fought for him, aye, even to Kabul. Then when we challenged you to war six years later and were beaten, he ruled the Punjab justly and with righteous dealing, as his brother does to-day. Jan Larens is a good and great man likewise, but Henry we loved most. We knew him well." "It is true," echoed Hira Singh. "If all the Feringhis were like unto Henry Larens there would have been no mutiny. Just is he, and he understands us and knows our ways of thinking as no other white man has ever done. He loved us, yet was he firm--firm as is his brother, and never was there a braver man. How he defied us all at Peshawur, though at our mercy! And so great was his ikbal (prestige), that he forced us to aid him even against our will. Jan Larens is a just and good man, but for Henry Larens we would gladly lay down our lives. I know that he is dead, but my brother will not believe it." "We will be ready before sundown, sahib," Govind Singh assured Ted as he left them, greatly impressed by this evidence of the influence of one good man, who had so won over his former enemies that they had become his staunchest friends. Ensign Russell's kit was not extensive. He was now quite an old campaigner, having learned at Delhi how to do without many luxuries that he had formerly considered necessities. He gave his Mohammedan servant instructions to prepare for a long journey, and Kasim Ali received the news as a matter of course. Strange must be the lives of these Indian servants, who are ready to change their place of abode at a moment's notice for another hundreds of miles away. At Delhi, after the capture of the town, Ted had picked up a bargain in the shape of a nice Arab, good-tempered, robust, and speedy. But he also needed an animal for Kasim Ali, and another for his kit and supplies, so he now called upon an Afghan dealer whose horses he had previously noticed. The Afghan brought out one sorry brute after another and tried to pass them off as veritable treasures, such as Aurungzebe himself might have envied. Ted looked guileless, and the Afghan was pained to hear him remark: "I'm in a hurry. If you have no horses, say so, and I'll go elsewhere."