IV
The night was as black as pitch, but Thorneycroft rode hard.
He figured back.
The Maharaja of Oneypore had died on the fifteenth of January. To-day was the tenth of February. Twenty-five days had elapsed since the raja's death.
Would he be in time?
"Come on, babu-jee!" he cried, and rode harder than ever.
Once his stallion reared on end and landed stiffly on his forefeet, nearly throwing him. But that night he could not consider the feelings of a mere horse. He pressed on the curb with full strength and brought his fist down between the animal's ears; and, after a minute or two of similar reasoning, the Marwari stretched his splendid, muscled body and fell into a long, swinging fox-trot.
The road to Oneypore was as straight as a lance
24
