CHAPTER IV.
"You have failed!" whispered Fate, and a weary civilian Threw up his task as a matter of course.
"Failed ?" said the soldier.

He knew a million Chances untackled yet.

"Get me a horse!" THAT was a strange ride of Mahommed Gunga's, and a fateful one--more full of portent for the British Raj in India than he, or the British, or the men amid whose homes he rode could ever have anticipated.

He averaged a little less than twenty miles a day, and through an Indian hot-weather, and with no spare horse, none but a born horseman--a man of light weight and absolute control of temper--could have accomplished that for thirty days on end.
Wherever he rode there was the same unrest.

Here and there were new complaints he had not yet heard of, imaginary some of them, and some only too well founded.