There were country-ponies and Arabs and Kathiawaris and Khaubulis among which to pick, and though the average run of them was worse than merely bad, and though both best and worst were hidden away whenever possible, good horses were discoverable. Within an hour, Bill Brown; with the aid of his men, had routed out a Khaubuji stallion for Juggut Khan, one fit to carry him against time the whole of the way to Bholat. The Rajput mounted him where Brown unearthed him, and watched the signing of a scribbled-out receipt with a cynical smile. “If he comes to claim his money for the horse,” said Juggut Khan, “I--even I, who am penniless--will pay him. Good-by, Brown sahib!” He leaned over and grasped the sergeant by the hand. “Take my advice, now. I know what is happening and what has happened. Fall back on Bholat at once. Hurry! Seize horses or even asses for your men, and ride in hotfoot. Salaam!” He drove his right spur in, wheeled the horse and started across country in the direction of Bholat at a hand-gallop, guiding himself solely by the soldier's sixth sense of direction, and leaving the problem of possible pitfalls to the horse. “If what he says is true,” said Brown, as the clattering hoof-beats died away, “and I'm game to take my oath he wouldn't lie to me, I'd give more than a little to have him with me for the next few hours!” The men came clustering round him now, anxious for an explanation. They had held their tongues while Juggut Khan was there, because they happened to know Brown too well to do otherwise. He would have snubbed any man who dared to question him before the Indian. But, now that the Indian was gone, curiosity could stay no longer within bounds. “What is it, Sergeant? Anything been happening? What's the news? What's that I heard him say about rebellion? They're a rum lot, them Rajputs. D'you think he's square? Tell us, Sergeant!” “Listen, then. Rebellion has broken out. The native barracks at Jailpore have been burned, and all the English officers are killed--or so says Juggut Khan. He's riding on, to carry the news to General Baines. He says that the mutineers are planning to come along this way some time within the next few hours!” “What are we going to do, then?” “That's my business! I'm in command here!” “Yes, but, Sergeant--aren't you going back to Bholat? Aren't you going to follow him? Are you going to stay here and get cut up? We'll get caught here like rats in a trap!” “Are you giving orders here?” asked Brown acidly. “Fall in! Come on, now! Hurry! 'Tshun--eyes right--ri'--dress. Eyes--front. Ri'--turn. By the left--quick--march! Silence, now! Left! Left! Left!” He marched them back toward the crossroads without giving them any further opportunity to remonstrate or ask for information. It was not until he reached the crossroads, without being challenged, that he showed any sign of being in any way disturbed. “Sentry!” he shouted. “Sentry!” But there was no answer.