Sitting one evening outside his tent, after yet another unsuccessful attempt, it suddenly occurred to Lumsden that Dilawur must have an astonishingly intimate knowledge of every path, nullah, and pass in the district to thus evade capture, as well as a remarkably efficient intelligence department, to give him timely warning.  “Just the man for the Guides,” exclaimed Lumsden.  “I’ll send for him.”  A polite note was accordingly written inviting Dilawur Khan to come into the Guides’ camp, at any time and place that fitted in with his other, and doubtless more important, engagements, “to talk matters over.”  At the same time a free passport was sent which would allow of his reaching the camp unmolested.  It speaks volumes for the high estimate which British integrity had already earned amongst these rough borderland people, that a man with two thousand rupees on his head could accept such an invitation.  For the same man to have accepted a similar invitation from the Sikhs, or even from his own countrymen, would have been an act of culpable and aimless suicide.

One fine day, therefore, Dilawur strolled into camp, and he and Lumsden began “to talk matters over.”  After compliments, as the Eastern saying is, Lumsden with much heartiness, and in that free and easy manner which was his own, took Dilawur with the utmost candour into his confidence.

“Look here, Dilawur,” said he; “you are a fine fellow, and are living a fine free life of adventure, and I daresay are making a fairly good thing out of it.  So far, although I have done my best, I have failed to catch you, but catch you I assuredly shall some day.  And what do you suppose I shall do with you when I do catch you?  Why, hang you as high as Haman,—­a gentleman whose history appears in our Good Book.  Now, that’s a poor ending for a fine soldier like you, and I’ll make you an offer, take it or leave it.  I’ll enlist you, and as many of your men as come up to my standard, in the Guides, and with decent luck you will soon be a native officer, with good fixed pay, and a pension for your old age, and, meanwhile, as much fighting as the greatest glutton can wish for.  Well, what do you say?”

Dilawur Khan first stared, thunderstruck at the novelty and unexpectedness of the offer; and then, tickled with the comical side of it, burst into a roar of laughter.  It was one of the very best jokes he had ever heard.  He, an outlaw, with a price on his head, his sins forgiven, enlisted in the Guides, with the prospect of becoming a native officer!  “No, no,” he exclaimed, “that won’t do”; and, still shaking with laughter, rose to take his leave.  And as he walked away he was followed by the hearty and genial voice of Lumsden roaring after him:  “Mind, I’ll catch you some day, Dilawur, and then I’ll hang you, as sure as my name’s Lumsden!”

Lumsden, having many other matters on hand, thought nothing more about the matter, till, much to his surprise, one day six weeks later, who should walk calmly into his camp, without passport or safe conduct, or anything save serene confidence in the British officer, but Dilawur Khan.