the question of making it a visit.

"Let me get my glass," said Mary, starting toward the house, hardly a
hundred feet distant.

"Allow me to bring it," interrupted Jack. "It is on one of the chairs
on the veranda, and I want my rifle."

Taking the glass from him on his return, the young woman levelled it at
the group of horsemen on the other side.

"I cannot make out who they are," she said, passing the glass to her
father.

It took the parent but a few seconds to answer the question. One
sweeping glance told him.

"They are Ghoojurs," he remarked, with as much calmness as he could
assume.

"And who are Ghoojurs?" asked Jack Everson, less excited than his
friends.

"They belong to the nomadic tribes which originally occupied India, and
are among the worst wretches in the world. They are brigands and
robbers, who are to be dreaded at all times. Now, if the revolt has
broken out, they will be as merciless as tigers."

"It looks as if they intended to make us a visit, doctor?"