"Yes, Dewan, it is true."

"_You_ are the son of your mother, not Bhart," the Dewan raved; "he was
a brave man, but _you_ speak of danger--bah!"

The Dewan's teeth, stained red at the edges from the chewing of _pan_,
showed in a sneering grin like a hyena's as he added: "Bah! Ye are but
thieves who steal from those who are helpless."

Ajeet spoke: "Dewan Sahib, we be men as brave as Bhart--we are of the
same caste, but there is a difference between such an one as he took
the head of and a Pindari Chief. The Pindaris are the wild dogs of
Hind, they are wolves, and is it easy to trap a wolf?"

But the Dewan had worked himself into a frenzy at their questioning of
the possibilities; he waved his fat hands in a gesture of dismissal
crying: "Go, go!"

As the jamadars stood hesitatingly, Sewlal swung to the Frenchman:
"Sirdar Sahib, make the order that I cease payment of the thousand
rupees a day to these rebels, cowards. Go!" and he looked at Ajeet;
"talk it over amongst yourselves, and send to me one of your wives that
will lead a company--lend your women your tulwars."

Ajeet's black eyes flashed anger, and his brows were drawn into a knot
just above his thin, hawk-like nose; suppressed passion at the Dewan's
deadly insult was in the even, snarling tone of his voice:

"Dewan Sahib, harsh words are profitless--" his eyes, glittering, were
fixed on the bulbous orbs of the man of the quill--"and the talk of