He has relations in that neighborhood and wants to visit them; he is going to take advantage of your pack-train and escort.
You'll have a small escort as far as Abu; after that you'll be expected to look out for yourself.

The escort is made up of details travelling down-country; they'll leave you at Abu Road." So, still unbelieving--still wondering why the Brigadier should go to all that trouble to convince him that politics in a half-forgotten native state were fair meat for a soldier--Cunningham rode off at the head of a variously made-up travelling party, grudging every step of that wonderful mare Mahommed Gunga had given him, that bore him away from the breeze-swept north--away from the mist-draped hills he had already learned to love--ever down, down, down into the hell-baked plains.
Each rest-house where he spent a night was but another brooding-place of discontent and regret, each little petty detail connected with the command of the motley party (mainly time-expired men, homeward bound), was drudgery; each Hindoo pugree that he met was but a beastly contrast, or so it seemed to him, to the turbans of the troop that but a week ago had thundered at his back.
More than any other thing, Mahommed Gunga's cheerfulness amazed him.

He resented it.

He did not see why the man who had expressed such interest in the good fortune of his father's son should not be sympathetic now that his soldier career had been nipped so early in the bud.

He began to lose faith in Mahommed Gunga's wisdom, and was glad when the ex-Risaldar chose to bring up the rear of the procession instead of riding by his side.
But behind, in Peshawur, there was one man at least who knew Mahommed Gunga and his worth, and who refused to let himself be blinded by any sort of circumstantial evidence.