CAME to with a splitting headache, and lay wondering in a kind of twilight, caused, as I discovered presently, by a guttering candle stuck in a knot-hole in a board on a stamped earth floor. Overhead there were beams made of all sorts of odds and ends, including two telegraph poles marked with the British Government's broad arrow, and a length of standard railway metal.
My fingers informed me I was lying on sheepskins or something of the sort; and in among the singing in my ears I could distinguish occasional sounds obviously made by some one rather close to me; but I did not move my head for several minutes, because it hurt too much for one reason, and for another it seemed wise to get some information before betraying any. It was night; that much was obvious. But I could not guess how many nights I might have lain unconscious, and it felt like eons since that blow from behind had knocked me sprawling. There seemed to be two people in the room, or hut, or what ever it was, and one of them was crooning to herself in a language that if I ever understood I could not then remember. It was decidedly cold, and at last I shivered, whereat I felt agreeably soft fingers feeling the back of my hand.
“Shall I throw another sheepskin over you?” a voice asked.
So I turned my head and saw Joan Angela in riding-breeches on the ground beside me. She looked tired, but not otherwise distressed.
“How did you get here?” I asked her stupidly.
“Don't try to talk for a while yet. Listen,” she answered. “I was afraid once or twice you were dead; and you're so heavy they had to handle you roughly, although I think they tried to be decent in their own fashion. There's a cut on the back of your head, but I don't think it's deep, and I've bandaged it, so don't move.”
“How long have I been here?” I asked.
“Several hours. But don't talk. I'll tell you all about it if you'll listen.”
So I lay still, and presently Joan Angela began.
“I was on my way to the Lancers' camp. There were two men with me, and I'd sent a third in advance to say I was coming, and would be late, but was all right. My horse had gone lame, and I was letting him take it easy. But it was later than I thought, and I think we'd lost the way; I'm sure we covered lots of unnecessary miles, and when it grew dark the men seemed to lose their bearings altogether. But I knew if we reached the river and turned along the bank we'd be all right, and it was no use turning back, even if I'd cared to; so we rode on. The men were Beluchis, who'd been lent to me by the Farquharsons, when they left home—supposed to be awfully faithful and so on, but too stupid for words.
“Well, we reached the river at last, and they said to turn to the right, but I knew better. If we had turned to the right, maybe you and I wouldn't be here now, but I'd have missed the Lancers' camp, and then some other brigands would have bagged me, so what's the odds? I knew I'd taken the right direction.
“It got so dark at last you couldn't see a thing. Then some men jumped out of a hole by the river bank and knifed my Beluchis without a word. I had a pistol and tried to use it, but another rascal cut my horse's throat, and grabbed me as he fell, so the shot went wild. Then he knocked the pistol out of my hand and I was prisoner. But he didn't see where the pistol went to, and I've got it now. They treated me reasonably well, and while they talked I sat down—right on the pistol.
“I wasn't worried much. The Beluchis were dead, and of course that was horrible, but I despise a man who's so afraid he has to have a woman show him which way to turn; and they didn't put up any fight, they were just cowards. I was sorrier for the horse. And I knew the Lancers would be out looking for me in two ticks, because they expected me to dinner, and besides, that third Beluchi had ridden on ahead to tell them I was really on the way.
“What puzzled me was that the men who'd captured me—there were nine of them—started to lead me off in the wrong direction. We kept along the river bank. I was even crazy enough for a minute to think they were taking me to the Lancers' camp to hand me over. I could see the camp lights in the distance. There was a man in charge of the party—a chieftain I suppose—whom they all called Kangra Khan; he was the only one who seemed to know a word of English, but when I asked him a question or two he ordered me to hold my tongue. He even threatened to kill me if I made a noise, but I didn't believe him. I kept raising my voice in the hope some of the Lancers' outposts would hear me; and at last I really did hear some one coming. It turned out to be you.