patriarchs, hurrying out of Egypt, as depicted in the illustrated
Bibles of a generation ago--all leaning forward--each man carrying
a staff--and none looking to the right or left.

After a time the moon rose and looked at them from over a distant
ridge that was thousands of feet higher than the ragged fringe of
Khyber wall. The little mangy jackals threw up their heads to howl
at it; and after that there was pale light diffused along the track,
and they could see so well that King set a faster pace, and they
breathed hard in the effort to keep up. He did not draw rein until
it was nearly time for the Pass to begin narrowing and humping upward
to the narrow gut at Ali Masjid. But then he halted suddenly. The
jackals had ceased howling, and the very spirit of the Khyber seemed
to hold its breath and listen.

In that shuddersome ravine unusual sounds will rattle along sometimes
from wall to wall and gully to gully, multiplying as they go, until
night grows full of thunder. So it was now that they heard a staccato
cannonade--not very loud yet, but so quick, so pulsating, so filling
to the ears that be could judge nothing about the sound at all,
except that whatever caused it must be round a corner out of sight.

At first, for a few minutes King suspected it was Rewa Gunga's mare,
galloping over hard rock away ahead of him. Then he knew it was
a horse approaching. After that he became nearly sure he was mistaken
altogether and that the drums were being beaten at a village--until
he remembered there was no village near enough and no drums in any case.

It was the behavior of the horse he rode, and of the led one and
the mules, that announced at last beyond all question that a horse