"Oh, you are not, your Mightiness, and lord of all the world," answered Haslam, adopting the other's sneering tone. "Salaam to you then, for you are far too great a king for me to talk with," and he turned to go. "Move not." The order came, sharp and stern. Haslam's first impulse was to ignore it, but a second, and perhaps a safer one, caused him to halt, and half turn. It was high time. Four rifles were levelled straight at him at the distance of a few yards. Haslam was as brave a man as ever lived, yet at that moment, gazing at the deadly muzzles and the scowling, shaggy visages behind them, well might he have quailed, for his peril was great indeed. But he returned the threatening stare of the chief firmly and unflinchingly. For a few moments both thus looked at each other in silence. Then Haslam, who had none of the imperturbability of the Oriental, thought he might as well say something, if only to show them he was not cowed. "Who is the Sirdar with whom I am talking?" he asked. "Murad Afzul, Gularzai." Then Haslam felt more than uncomfortable. The name of this noted border ruffian was known to him, likewise some of his deeds. But it was supposed that he had disappeared from that side of the country for some time past. "Look now at thy camp," went on the latter. "But move not, or thou art dead." The words were nearly drowned in what followed. A long, rattling roll as of thunder, from the ridge overhanging the camp--then another, and lo! the slope was alive with rushing white figures, and the flash of waving tulwars, as the crowd of fierce assailants charged down with lightning speed upon the practically defenceless camp. Many of the Levy Sowars--upon whose especial side of the camp the volleys had been poured--were dead, or writhing in death agonies and wounds. The remnant huddled for a moment like sheep, then made a rush for their horses, but between these and them was Murad Afzul's bodyguard--practised marksmen. Coolly, and with deliberate aim, they picked off the units of the demoralised force, bringing the whole to a standstill--and a sorry whole it was by now. Not all, however--not quite all--were demoralised. One, a brave man, a clansman of Mehrab Khan, who had been detailed for _dak_ duty, leaped on his horse, which was standing ready saddled and bridled, and dashed off at full gallop, to warn the _Sirkar_ Sahib and, incidentally, his fellow-tribesman. Bullets were rained after him, but now, in the excitement of immediate massacre and loot, aim had become wild. Yet, had they looked more closely, a tell-tale squirm or quiver might have told those marksmen that of the multitude of the bullets, one or two--or perchance more--had found a billet.