“You have spoken well,” said the chief after deep thought.  “I will do as you wish; it is the will of God.”  Then he added aloud, and with anger so that all might hear:  “I have spoken; at dawn the accursed Englishman shall die, and I will shoot him with mine own hand.  Praise be to Allah, and Mahomed the prophet of Allah.”

So Shah Sowar went back to his Sahib and explained the plan of escape.  And as soon as all was still the three slipped noiselessly out of the camp, past the bribed sentry, and, setting their faces to the south, toiled on, hiding at intervals, till they had placed well-nigh forty miles between themselves and the camp of the White Bearded Chief.

Then his heart broke through the stiff reserve of the Englishman, and he embraced his gallant comrade, and said:  “You and I are no longer master and servant, sahib and trooper; you have saved my life and henceforth we are brothers.  What can I do for you to show my gratitude?”

“Nothing, Sahib, except to tell my Colonel that I have done good service and upheld the name of the Guides.”  And the only other thing that Shah Sowar would accept was a watch to replace that which he had lost in the flight; and on it is inscribed, To my faithful friend Shah Sowar in memory of—­(and here follows the date of their flight).

* * * * *

Amongst the explorers who have gone forth from the Guides, taking their lives in their hands and barely escaping, was one Abdul Mujid.  This fine specimen of the trained adventurer was working through a hitherto unmapped and little known country, when one evening he came to a small village, and made his way as usual to the travellers’ serai.  There also, as is not unusual, he found assembled, besides wayfarers like himself, the headman of the village and two or three other residents, smoking and chatting.  They made room for Abdul Mujid, and with the outwardly polite insistence of the Oriental asked his business, whence he came, and whither he was going.

While our good friend the Guide was spinning such romances as seemed good unto him, to account for his presence in this secluded valley, a small boy came and squatted down at his feet, to lose not a word of the story.  And sitting there, like a boy, or a magpie, he picked up one of the shoes which Abdul Mujid had slipped off as he took his seat and began to examine it curiously.  This perfectly childish act by chance caught the wandering glance of the headman, and as he looked at the shoes, and then up at the fine strapping fellow who owned them, a sudden thought occurred to him.  “Those are very like soldiers’ shoes,” he said in a hard, suspicious voice; “I have seen them wearing the like in Peshawur.”