their journey--four hundred dead on horses, stumbling among their own
graves, among the little heaps--dead men all, whom we slew.'

'Whew!' said Halley. 'That accounts for my cursing Carter and the
Major cursing me. Four hundred sabres, eh? No wonder we thought there
were a few extra men in the troop. Kurruk Shah,' he whispered to a
grizzled native officer that lay within a few feet of him, 'hast thou
heard anything of a dead Rissala in these hills?'

'Assuredly,' said Kurruk Shah with a grim chuckle. 'Otherwise, why
did I, who have served the Queen for seven-and-twenty years, and
killed many hill-dogs, shout aloud for quarter when the lightning
revealed us to the watch-towers? When I was a young man I saw the
killing in the valley of Sheor-Kot there at our feet, and I know the
tale that grew up therefrom. But how can the ghosts of unbelievers
prevail against us who are of the Faith? Strap that dog's hands a
little tighter, Sahib. An Afghan is like an eel.'

'But a dead Rissala,' said Halley, jerking his captive's wrist. 'That
is foolish talk, Kurruk Shah. The dead are dead. Hold still, _sag_.'
The Afghan wriggled.

'The dead are dead, and for that reason they walk at night. What need
to talk? We be men; we have our eyes and ears. Thou canst both see
and hear them, down the hillside,' said Kurruk Shah composedly.

Halley stared and listened long and intently. The valley was full of
stifled noises, as every valley must be at night; but whether he saw
or heard more than was natural Halley alone knows, and he does not
choose to speak on the subject.