He was grumbling still about the honor of a Rangar, when Alwa
called a halt in the shelter of a deserted side street in order to
question Ali Partab further.
Ali Partab protested that he did not know what to say or think about
the missionaries. He explained his orders and vowed that his honor
held him there in Howrah until Miss McClean should consent to come
away. He did not mention the father; he was a mere side issue--it
was Alwa who asked after him.
"A tick on the belly of an ox rides with the ox," said Ali Partab.
"Lead on, then, to the mission house," commanded Alwa, and the ten-man
troop proceeded to obey. They had reached the main street again, and
were wheeling into it, when Joanna sprang from gutter darkness and
intercepted them. She was all but ridden down before Ali Partab
recognized her.
"The mohurs, sahib!" she demanded. "Three golden mohurs!"
"Ay, three!" said Ali Partab, giving her a hand and yanking her off the
ground. She sprang across his horse's rump behind him, and he seemed
to have less compunction about personal defilement than the others had.
"Is she thy wife or thy mother-in-law?" laughed Alwa.
"Nay, sahib, but my creditor! The mother of confusion tells me that
the Miss-sahib and her father are in Howrah's palace!"
They halted, all together in a cluster in the middle of the street--
shut in by darkness--watched for all they knew, by a hundred enemies.
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