“I wonder whether a man such as you can realize exactly what it means to us to know that white women are in Jailpore, at the mercy of black mutineers? I mean, are you sufficiently aware of the extreme horror of the situation?” “Knew you Captain Collins Sahib, of the Jailpore command?” “Know him well.” “Knew you his memsahib?” “She was a niece of mine.” “I slew her myself, with this sword!” “When? Why?” “Yesterday. Because her husband could not get to her himself, and since he and I knew each other, and he trusted me. I said to her, 'Memsahib! I have your husband's orders!' She asked me 'What orders, Juggut Khan?' I said, 'Why ask me, memsahib? Is my task easier, or yours?' She said 'Obey your orders, Juggut Khan, and accept my thanks now, since I shall be unable to thank you afterward!' And then she looked me bravely in the face, and met her death, sahib. Of a truth I know! I am to be trusted!” “I believe you, Juggut Khan. And, incidentally, I beg your pardon for having doubted you. Have you slept?” “Nay, Sahib. And I sleep not on this side of the crossroads!” “I don't place Sergeant Brown under your command--you'll understand that's impossible--but, it's quite impossible for him to catch me up. He may as well cooperate with you. Wait.” He paused, and wrote, then continued, “Here is a note to him, in which I order him to work with you, and to take your advice whenever possible. Go to the stables, and choose any horse you like except my first charger. Here--here is money; you may need some. Count that, will you. How much is it? Four hundred rupees? Write out a receipt for it. Now, good luck to you, Juggut Khan. And if you should get through alive--I'll pay you the compliment of admitting that you won't come through without the women, and I know that Brown won't--if you should have luck, and should happen to get through, why, look for me at Harumpore, or elsewhere to the northward of it. I start with my division in an hour.” “Salaam, sahib!” said Rajput, rising and standing at the salute. “Salaam, Juggut Khan! Take any food, or drink, or clothing that you want. Good-by, and your good luck ride with you. I feel like a murderer, but I know I've done the best that can be done!” VI. Now if Sergeant Brown possessed a sweetheart, and the sweetheart lived in England, and if Brown still loved her--as has already been more than hinted at--it is not at all unreasonable to wonder why he had no likeness of her, no news of her, nothing but her memory around which to weave the woof of sentiment--at least, it's not unreasonable so to wonder in this late year of grace.