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Updated: May 27, 2025
Below, Jaimihr could be seen waiting patiently, checking his restive war-horse with a long-cheeked bit, and waiting, ready to ride under the gate the moment it was opened. Rosemary McClean came over; she and Cunningham and the missionary leaned together over the battlement and watched. "We might do some execution with rifles from here," Cunningham suggested; "I believe I'll send for mine."
Once rescued, Miss McClean and her father would be almost completely at his mercy, for they would not be able to accuse him of anything but friendliness, and would be obliged to return to whatever haven of safety he cared to offer them.
"Miss-sahib hai?" he growled; and the woman jumped up in a hurry and went inside. A moment later Rosemary McClean stood framed in the doorway still in her cotton riding-habit, very pale evidently frightened at the summons but strangely, almost ethereally, beautiful. Her wealth of chestnut hair was loosely coiled above her neck, as though she had been caught in the act of dressing it.
McClean sat back and tried to summarize his experiences of months and fit them into what Joanna said. "What does that mean?" asked his daughter, leaning forward. She was staring at Joanna's forearm and from that to a dull-red patch on the woman's loin-cloth. Joanna answered nothing. "Are you wounded, Joanna? Are you sure? That's blood! Look here, father!" He agreed that it was blood.
"Quarters and food he shall have!" swore Alwa, looking down at the Prince who sat his charger in the centre of the roadway. "Did he deign a threat?" "He said that in fifteen minutes he will burst the gate in, unless he is first admitted!" Duncan McClean walked over, limping painfully, and peered over the precipice. "Unfriendly?" he asked, and Mahommed Gunga heard him. "Thy friend Jaimihr, sahib!
I want you and Mahommed Gunga to place yourselves near Jaimihr's cell so that you can hear what he says. There won't be any doubt then about who has broken promises. Are you ready, Miss McClean?" She was trembling, but from excitement and not fear.
Cunningham, without another glance at the dead Prince, rode up to Rosemary McClean, who was picking herself up and looking bewildered; she had watched the duel in speechless silence, lying full length in the dust, and she still could not speak when he reached her. "Put your foot on mine," he said reassuringly; "then swing yourself up behind me if you can. If you can't, I'll pick you up in front."
He let her take a good look at the money before replacing it, then tossed her a silver quarter-rupee piece, saluted Miss McClean again for she was watching the pantomime from the doorway still and mounted and rode off, his back looking like the back of one who has neither care nor fear nor master. At the caravansary his squire came running out to hold his stirrup.
Rosemary McClean discovered that her pony had gone lame, and was angry with the groom. The groom ran away, and she put that down to native senselessness. Duncan McClean sent one after another of the little native children to find him a man who would take a letter to Mount Abu. The children went and did not come back again, and he put that down to the devil, who would seem to have reclaimed them.
I think I see the way through!" "You are forgetting me." The missionary spread his broad stooped shoulders. "I am a missionary first, but next to that I have my country's cause more at heart than anything. I place myself under your orders, Mr. Cunningham." "I too," said Miss McClean. She was looking at him keenly as he gazed away into nothing through slightly narrowed eyes.
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