He returned Agar's salute hurriedly, with a preoccupied air. He wore a quiet uniform tunic almost hidden by black braiding, a pith helmet which had seen brighter days and likewise fouler, and the leg that he threw over his horse's head was cased in riding trousers and a neat little top-boot of brown leather.
He slipped from the saddle with a litheness which contrasted strangely with his closely cropped grey hair and white moustache and Imperial. He walked towards Agar's tent after the manner of one who had sat in the saddle for many hours. His spurs clanked with a sharp, business-like ring, and his every movement had that neat finish which indicates the soldier born and bred.
Wheeling round he faced Agar, who had followed him with a more leisurely gait based on longer legs, looking up keenly into the quiet fair face. Turning he shot his sword home into its scabbard with a click.
Agar awaited for further observations. This was not the man whom he had expected, but another, far greater, far higher up in the military scale--a man whom he had only met once before, and that at an official reception.
Seeing that his guest was unbuckling his sword, he presumed that the task of continuing this conversation lay with himself.
"M' yes!" he replied, rubbing his pannikin out clean with the corner of a towel, and proceeding to mix some brandy and water; "why?"
"Why!" answered the little man scornfully, "WHY! damn it, sir, Stevenor's command has been cut off by the enemy in force--massacred to a man. That is why I say 'Thank God, you're safe!' It is more than I expected."
Our deeds still travel with us from afar, And what, we have been makes us what we are.
There was a momentary pause; then Major Agar spoke.
"In that case," he observed, "the British force occupying this country for the last week has consisted of myself and thirty Goorkhas."
"Precisely so! And it was by the merest chance that I found out that you were here. It was only guesswork at the best. A bazaar report reached me that poor old Stevenor had been cut to pieces. I hate blaming a dead man, but I really don't know what he can have been about. He made some hideous mistake somewhere. We buried him yesterday. On hearing the report, I thought it better to come up myself, having a little knowledge of the country. Brought two companies, and half a squadron to act as scouts. We reached Barkoola yesterday, and found the poor chaps as they had fallen. And some of those carpet-warriors at home say that a black man can't fight! Can't he! Not so much brandy this time, please. Yes, fill it up."