At the pipal Nana Sahib reined in the bays sharply, saying, "Hello, General, wanted to see you for a minute--called at the bungalow, and your servant said you had gone down this way. What's up?" he questioned after greetings had passed between Baptiste, Barlow and Elizabeth Hodson.
"Just some new recruits, scouts, taking the oath of service," and Baptiste closed an eye in a caution-giving wink.
A slight sneer curled the thin lips of Nana Sahib; he understood perfectly what Baptiste meant by the wink--that the Englishman being there, it would be as well to say little about the Bagrees. But the Prince had no very high opinion of Captain Barlow's perceptions, of his finer acuteness of mind; the thing would have to be very plainly exposed for the Captain to discover it. He was a good soldier, Captain Barlow--that happy mixture of brain and brawn and courage that had coloured so much of the world's map red, British; he was the terrier class--all pluck, with perhaps the pluck in excelsis--the brain-power not preponderant.
"Who is the handsome native--he looks like a Rajput?" Elizabeth asked, indicating the man who was evidently the leader among the others.
"That is Ajeet Singh, chief of these men," Baptiste answered.
"He is a handsome animal," Nana Sahib declared.
"He is like an Arab Apollo," Elizabeth commented; and her tone suggested that it was a whip-cut at the Prince's half-sneer.
The girl's description of Ajeet was trite. The Chief's face was almost perfect; the golden-bronze tint of the skin set forth in the enveloping background of a turban of blue shot with gold-thread draped down to cover a silky black beard that, parted at the chin, swept upward to loop over the ears. The nose was straight and thin; there was a predatory cast to it, perhaps suggested by the bold, black, almost fierce eyes. He was clothed with the full, rich, swaggering adornment of a Rajput; the splendid deep torso enclosed in a shirt-of-mail, its steel mesh so fine that it rippled like silver cloth; a red velvet vestment, negligently open, showed in the folds of a silk sash a jewel-hilted knife; a _tulwar_ hung from his left shoulder. As he moved here and there, there was a sinuous grace, panther-like, as if he strode on soft pads. At rest his tall figure had the set-up of a soldier.