"The southern tribes--Bengalis of the south and east--would give better picking than mere medal ribbons!" They were not all sure of him.

They were not all satisfied why he should ride on to Peshawur, and decline to stay with them and talk good sedition.
"I would see how the British are!" he told them.

And he told the truth.
But they were not quite satisfied; he would have made a splendid leader to have kept among them, until he--too--became too powerful and would have to be deposed in turn.
His own holding was a long way from Peshawur, and he was no rich man who could afford at a mere whim to ride two long days' march beyond his goal.

Nor was he, as he had explained to Miss McClean, a letter-carrier; he would get no more than the merest thanks for delivering her letters to where they could be included in the Government mail-bag.

Yet he left the road that would have led him homeward to his left, and carried on--quickening his pace as he neared the frontier garrison town, and wasting, then, no time at all on seeking information.