was only eighteen years old, but of good stature, well-knit, and straight
as a sapling.

Seeing that no one answered him, but sat and stared incredulously, he
laughed a little, frankly and boyishly. "The kris of Boonda Broke is
for the hearts of every one of us," said he. "He may throw it soon--
to-night--to-morrow. No man can leave here--all are needed; but a boy
can ride; he is light in the saddle, and he may pass where a man would be
caught in a rain of bullets. I have ridden the sorrel of the Dakoon
often; he has pressed it on me; I will go to the master of his stud, and
I will ride to the Neck of Baroob."

"No, no," said one after the other, getting to his feet, "I will go."

The Governor waved them down. "The lad is right," said he, and he looked
him closely and proudly in the eyes. "By the mercy of God, you shall
ride the ride," said he. "Once when Pango Dooni was in the city, in
disguise, aye, even in the Garden of the Dakoon, the night of the Dance
of the Yellow Fire, I myself helped him to escape, for I stand for a
fearless robber before a cowardly saint." His grey moustache and
eyebrows bristled with energy as he added: "The lad shall go. He shall
carry in his breast the bracelet with the red stone that Pango Dooni gave
me. On the stone is written the countersign that all hillsmen heed, and
the tribe-call I know also."

"The danger--the danger--and the lad so young!" said McDermot; but yet
his eyes rested lovingly on the boy.

The Colonel threw up his head in anger. "If I, his father, can let him
go, why should you prate like women? The lad is my son, and he shall win