betrayed their thoughts or intentions. The young soldiers saw nothing,
knew nothing, and had they known would have cared less. There would be
no rising. If there was, so much the better. They were ready for it. The
game ended and the officers cantered back to their camps and posts.

It was then that a strange incident occurred--an incident eminently
characteristic of the frontier tribes. As the syces were putting the
rugs and clothing on the polo ponies, and loitering about the ground
after the game, the watching natives drew near and advised them to be
off home at once, for that there was going to be a fight. They knew,
these Pathans, what was coming. The wave of fanaticism was sweeping down
the valley. It would carry them away. They were powerless to resist.
Like one who feels a fit coming on, they waited. Nor did they care very
much. When the Mad Fakir arrived, they would fight and kill the
infidels. In the meantime there was no necessity to deprive them of
their ponies. And so with motives, partly callous, partly sportsmanlike,
and not without some faint suspicion of chivalry, they warned the native
grooms, and these taking the hint reached the camp in safety.

Late on this same afternoon Major Deane reported to Brigadier-General
Meiklejohn, who commanded the Malakand garrison, that matters had
assumed a very grave aspect; that a great armed gathering had collected
around the Mad Mullah's standard, and that an attack was probable. He
advised that the Guides should be called up to reinforce the brigade. A
telegram was immediately despatched to Mardan ordering them to march
without delay. At 8.30 Lieutenant P. Eliott-Lockhart, who was the senior
officer then with the regiment, received the order. At 1.30 A.M. they
began their now famous march.

After sending for the Guides, the brigadier, at about seven o'clock,