Caste | Page 2

was manifest in the strong content of his deep
brown eyes. Incidentally that was one of the reasons the Resident had
asked for him, though he would have denied it, even to his daughter,
Elizabeth, though it was for her sake--that part of it.
The affair with Elizabeth had been going on for two or three years;
never quite settled--always hovering.
Indeed the Resident's daughter was not constituted to raise a cyclone of
passion, a tempest of feeling that brings an impetuous declaration of
love from any man. She was altogether proper; well-bred; admirable;
perhaps somewhat of the type so opposite to Barlow's impressionable
nature that ultimately, all in good time, they would realise that the
scheme of creation had marked them for each other. And Colonel
Hodson almost prayed for this. It was desirable in every way. Barlow
was of a splendid family; some day he might become Lord Barradean.
Anyway Captain Barlow was there playing polo with Nana Sahib--one

of the Prince's favourites; and waiting for a certain paper that would be
sent to the Resident that would contain offers of an alliance with the
Pindari Chief.
And this same hovering menace of the Pindari force was causing Nana
Sahib unrest. Perhaps there had been a leak, as cautiously as the
Resident had made every move. If the Pindari army were to join the
British, ready at a moment's notice to fall on the flank of the Mahrattas,
harass them with guerilla warfare, it would be serious; they were as
elusive as a huge pack of wolves; unencumbered by camp followers,
artillery, foraging as they went, swooping like birds of prey, they were
a terrible enemy. Even as the tiger slinks in dread from a pack of the
red wild-dogs, so a regular force might well dread these flying
horsemen.
And it was Amir Khan that Nana Sahib, and the renegade French
commander, Jean Baptiste, dreaded and distrusted. Overtures had been
made to him without result. He was a wonderful leader. He had made
the name of the Pindari feared throughout India. He was the magnet
that held this huge body of fighting devils together.
Thus with the gigantic chess-board set; the possession of India
trembling in the balance; intellects of the highest development
pondering; Fate held the trump card, curiously, a girl; and not one of
the players had ever heard her name, the Gulab Begum.
CHAPTER II
The white sand plain surrounding Chunda was dotted with the tents of
the Mahratta force Sirdar Baptiste commanded. And the Sirdar, his soul
athirst for a go at the English, whom he hated with the same rabid
ferocity that possessed the soul of Nana Sahib, was busy. From
Pondicherry he had inveigled French gunners; and from Goa,
Portuguese. Also these renegade whites were skilled in drill. If Holkar
and Bhonsla did their part it would be Armageddon when the hell that
was brewing burst.
But Baptiste feared the Pindari. As he swung here and there on his

Arab the horse's hoofs seemed to pound from the resonant sands the
words "Amir Khan--Amir Khan! Pin-dar-is, Pin-dar-is!"
It was as he discussed this very thing with his Minister, Dewan Sewlal,
that Nana Sahib swirled up the gravelled drive to the bungalow on his
golden-chestnut Arab, in his mind an inspiration gleaned from
something that had been.
His greeting of the two was light, sporty; his thin well-chiselled face
carried the bright indifferent vivacity of a fox terrier.
"Good day, Sirdar," he cried gaily; and, "How listen the gods to your
prayers, my dear Dewani?"
Baptiste, out of the fulness of his heart soon broached the troublous
thing: "Prince," he begged, "obtain from the worthy Peshwa a
command and I'll march against this wolf, Amir Khan, and remove
from our path the threatened danger."
Nana Sahib laughed; his white, even teeth were dazzling as the
black-moustached lip lifted.
"Sirdar, when I send two Rampore hounds from my kennel to make the
kill of a tiger you may tackle Amir Khan. Even if we could crumple up
this blighter it's not cricket--we need those Pindari chaps--but not as
dead men. Besides, I detest bloodshed."
The Dewan rolled his bulbous eyes despairingly: "If Sindhia would
send ten camel loads of gold to this accursed Musselman, we could
sleep in peace," he declared.
"If it were a woman Sindhia would," Nana Sahib sneered.
Baptiste laughed.
"It is a wisdom, Prince, for that is where the revenue goes: women are a
curse in the affairs of men," the Dewan commented.
"With four wives your opinion carries weight, Dewani," and Nana

Sahib tapped the fat knee of the Minister with his riding whip.
Baptiste turned to the Prince. "There will be trouble over these Pindaris;
your friends, the English--eh, Nana Sahib--"
As though the handsome aquiline face of the Peshwa's