Black-faced,
white-whiskered monkeys roused by the din, screamed cries of hate and
alarm as they scurried in volplaning leaps from tree to tree. And
peacocks, awakened when they should have slept, called with their harsh
voices from lofty perches.
A party of villagers hurried by, shifting their cheap turbans to hide
faces as they scurried along.
The Gulab was trembling; perhaps the decoits, led by Hunsa, had come by a
shorter way; for they were like beasts of the jungle in this art of
silent, swift travel.
"Sahib," she pleaded, "go from the road."
"Why, Bootea?"
"The one with the staff spoke of soldiers."
He laughed and patted her shoulder. "Don't fear, little lady," he said,
"an army doesn't make war upon one, even if they are soldiers. It will
be but a wedding party who now take the wife to the village of her
husband."
"Not at night; and a Sahib who carries a woman upon his saddle will hear
words of offence."
Though Barlow laughed he was troubled. What if the smouldering fire of
sedition had flared up, and that even now men of Sindhia's were slipping
on a night march toward some massing of rebels.
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