A party of horsemen, fully twenty, if not more, in number, had approached the river and were now halted on the other side, looking across in the direction of Dr.Marlowe's home, as if debating the question of making it a visit.
"Let me get my glass," said Mary, starting toward the house, hardly a hundred feet distant.
"Allow me to bring it," interrupted Jack.

"It is on one of the chairs on the veranda, and I want my rifle." Taking the glass from him on his return, the young woman levelled it at the group of horsemen on the other side.
"I cannot make out who they are," she said, passing the glass to her father.
It took the parent but a few seconds to answer the question.

One sweeping glance told him.
"They are Ghoojurs," he remarked, with as much calmness as he could assume.
"And who are Ghoojurs ?" asked Jack Everson, less excited than his friends.
"They belong to the nomadic tribes which originally occupied India, and are among the worst wretches in the world.

They are brigands and robbers, who are to be dreaded at all times.

Now, if the revolt has broken out, they will be as merciless as tigers." "It looks as if they intended to make us a visit, doctor ?" "Alas! there can be no earthly doubt of it." "Let us hurry into the jungle," said Mary, her face paling with fear.
"We have not a minute to waste." "The advice is good, but before acting on it I should like to make an experiment." During this brief interval Jack Everson had carefully examined his rifle to assure himself that it was in good condition.
"Heavens, man!" exclaimed Dr.Marlowe, "you are not going to try a shot at them ?" "That is my intention." "They are a mile distant!" "One of my medals was won for hitting a target at exactly that distance," replied Jack, continuing his preparations.
"It is impossible that you should succeed." "But not impossible that I should try, so please don't bother the man at the wheel." "They have ridden into the water," added the young woman, still nervous and excited.
"Which will serve to shorten the distance somewhat." "Why not wait until they are halfway across; or, better still, not wait at all ?" inquired the doctor.
Jack Everson made no reply, but, lying down on his back, he slightly separated his raised knees, and, by crossing his ankles, made a rest for the barrel of his rifle.