The Forza and Khautmi
garrisons might hold the pass for an hour if they could be summoned. It
meant annihilation, but that was in the bargain. Thwaite was strong
enough in Bardur, but the town might give him trouble of itself, and he
was not a man of resources. After Bardur there was no need of thought.
Two hours after the telegraph clicked in the Nazri hut, the north of
India would have heard the news and be bestirring itself for work. In
five hours all would be safe, unless Bardur could be taken and the wires
cut. There might be treason in the town, but that again was not his
affair. Let him but send the message before sunset, and he would still
have time to get to Khautmi, and with good luck hold the defile for
sixty minutes. The thought excited him wildly. His face dripped with
sweat, his boots were cut with rock till the leather hung in shreds, and
a bleeding arm showed through the rents in his sleeve. But he felt no
physical discomfort, only the exhilaration of a rock climber with the
summit in sight, or a polo player with a clear dribble before him to the
goal. At last he was playing a true game of hazard, and the chance gave
him the keenest joy.
All the hot afternoon he scrambled till he came to the edge of a new
valley. Nazri must lie beyond, he reasoned, and he kept to the higher
ground. But soon he was mazed among precipitous shelves which needed
all his skill.
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