The trail was narrow, and the horsemen whose mounts ambled tirelessly behind Alwa's plain-bred Arab pressed on past him, to curse the hag and bid her make horse-room for her betters.

She sunk on the sand and begged of them.
Laughingly, they asked her what a coin would buy in all that arid waste.
"Have the jackals, then, turned tradesman ?" they jeered; but she only mumbled, and displayed her swollen tongue, and held her hands in an attitude of pitiful supplication.

Then Alwa cantered up--rode past--heard one of his men jeering--drew rein and wheeled.
"Give her water!" he commanded.
He sat and watched her while she knelt, face upward, and a Rangar poured lukewarm water from a bottle down her tortured throat.

He held it high and let the water splash, for fear his dignity might suffer should he or the bottle touch her.

Strictly speaking, Rangars have no caste, but they retain by instinct and tradition many of the Hindoo prejudices.