“A life for a life!  Lead on!”

The High Priest surrendered, with a dark and cunning look, though, that hinted at something or other in reserve.  He pulled at a piece of carving on the wail behind and pointed to a stair that showed behind the outswung door.  Then he plucked another priest by the sleeve and whispered.

The priest passed on the whisper.  A third priest turned and ran.

“That way!” said the High Priest, pointing.

“I?  Nay!  I go not down!” He raised his voice into an ululating howl.  “O Suliman!” he bellowed.  “Suliman!  O!—­Suliman!  Bring up the heaven-born!”

A growl like the distant rumble from a bear-pit answered him.  Then Ruth Bellairs’ voice was heard calling up the stairway.

“Is that you, Mahommed Khan?”

“Ay, memsahib!”

“Good!  I’m coming!”

She had recovered far enough to climb the ladder and the steep stone stair above it, and Suliman climbed up behind her, grumbling dreadful prophecies of what would happen to the priests now that Mohammed Khan had come.

“Is all well, Risaldar?” she asked him.

“Nay, heavenborn!  All is not well yet!  The general sahib from Jundhra and your husband’s guns and others, making one division, are engaged with rebels eight or nine miles from here.  We saw part of the battle as we rode!”

“Who wins?”

“It is doubtful, heavenborn!  How could we tell from this distance?”

“Have you a horse for me?”

“Ay, heavenborn!  Here!  Bring up that horse, thou, and Suliman’s!  Ride him cross-saddle, heavenborn—­there were no side-saddles in Siroeh!  Nay, he is just a little frightened.  He will stand—­he will not throw thee!  I did better than I thought, heavenborn.  I come with four-and-twenty, making twenty-six with me and Suliman.  An escort for a queen!  So—­sit him quietly.  Leave the reins free.  Suliman will lead him!  Ho!  Fronnnt!  Rank—­’bout-face!”

“My son!” wailed the High Priest.  “Where is my son?”

“Tell him, Suliman!”

“Where I caught thee, thou idol-briber!” snarled the Risaldar’s half-brother.

“Where?  In that den of stinks.  Gagged and bound all this while?”

“Ha!  Gagged and bound and out of mischief where all priests and priests’ sons ought to be!” laughed Mahommed Khan.  “Farward!  Farm twos Ter-r-r-ott!”

In went the spur, and the snorting, rattling, clanking cavalcade sidled and pranced out of the temple into the sunshine, with Ruth and Suliman in the midst of them.

“Gallop!” roared the Risaldar, the moment that the last horse was clear of the temple-doors.  And in that instant he saw what the High Priest’s whispering had meant.

Coming up the street toward them was a horde of silent, hurrying Hindus, armed with swords and spears, wearing all of them the caste-marks of the Brahman—­well-fed, indignant relations of the priests, intent on avenging the defilement of Kharvani’s temple.