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.