Perhaps the fugitives had gone thirty miles when suddenly the jungle ended abruptly and a desert opened up before them.  Beyond stood a purple line of rugged hills.  Ramabai raised his hand, and the elephants came to a halt.

“I believe I know where I am,” said Ramabai.  “Somewhere between us and yonder hills is a walled city, belonging to Bala Khan, a Pathan who sometimes styles himself as a rajah.  He has a body of fierce fighting men; and he lives unmolested for two reasons:  looting would not be worth while and his position is isolated and almost impregnable.  Now, if I am right, we shall find shelter there, for he was an old friend of my father’s and I might call him a friend of mine, since I sell sheep for him occasionally.”

“Bala Khan?” mused Bruce, reminiscently.  “Isn’t he the chap who has a sacred white elephant?”

“It is the same,” answered Ramabai.  “We can reach there before sundown.  It would be wise to hasten, however, as this desert and those hills are infested with lawless nomadic bands of masterless men—­brigands, you call them.  They would cut the throat of a man for the sake of his clothes.”

“Let us go on,” said the colonel.  “I don’t care where.  I am dead for want of food and sleep.”

“And I, too,” confessed Kathlyn; “My arm pains me badly.”

[Illustration:  My arm pains me badly.]

“My poor Kit!” murmured her father gloomily.  “And all this because I told you half a truth, because in play I tried to make a mystery out of a few plain facts.  I should have told you everything, warned you against following in case I failed to turn up.”

“I should have followed you just the same.”

“Shall I rebind the arm?” asked Bruce, turning.

“No, thanks.”  She smiled down at him.  “This bandage will serve till we reach Bala Khan’s.”

“By the way, Colonel, is there a pair of binoculars in the howdah?”

“Yes.  Do you want them?”

“No.  Just to be sure they were there.  We may have occasion to use them later, in case this place Ramabai is taking us to should turn out hostile.  I like to know what is going on ahead of me.”

“Poor Kit!” reiterated the colonel.

“Never mind, dad; you meant it all for the best; and you must not let our present misfortunes convince you that that yogi or guru cast a spell of evil over you.  That is all nonsense.”

“My child, this is the Orient, Asia.  Things happen here that are outside the pale of logic.  Bruce, am I not right?”

“I have seen many unbelievable things here in India,” replied Bruce reluctantly.  “Think of yesterday and to-day, Miss Kathlyn.”

“Yes; but the curse of a priest who believes in different gods, who kotows before a painted idol!  I just simply can’t believe anything so foolish.  Dad, put the thought out of your mind for my sake.  So long as we have the will to try we’ll see California again before many weeks.”