"I now must
leave you two interesting gentlemen," he said, "for I am to play a few
chuckers of polo with--particularly, Captain Barlow. He is jackal to
the bloodless Resident. I really thought a couple of days ago that he
would have to be sent home on sick leave. One of my officers rode him
off the ball in a fierce drive for goal, and by some devilish mistake
the post hadn't been sawed half-through, so when Barlow crashed into it
it stood up. As he lay perfectly still after his cropper it looked as
though Resident Hodson had lost his jackal. But Barlow is one of those
whip-cord Englishmen that die of old age; he was in the saddle again in
two days. Well, _au revoir_ and salaam."
When the clattering scurry of Nana Sahib's Arab had died out Baptiste
turned to the Dewan, saying:
"Well?"
"I will write the letter to Raja Karowlee, but you must sign it,
Sirdar; also furnish a fast riding camel and a trusty officer," the
Dewan answered simply.
"But Nana Sahib was nebulous--we may be made the goat of sacrifice."
"It is a wisdom, Sirdar; but, also, it is from the Prince an order; and
my office is always one of blame when there are excuses to make--it is
always that way.
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