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Younghusband, G. J.

"The Story of the Guides"

Assuredly Allah hath spread the cloak of stupidity and sloth
over this fellow," he said to himself, as his janitor rolled over, and
lazily muttering "Oh very well, anything for a little peace," to the
sepoy's intense delight fumblingly untied one of his hands.
What followed was like a streak of lightning from heaven. In one flash
Abdul Mujid had seized the naked sword, and the slothful sentry, before
he could draw another breath, lay dead to all below; in another flash he
had severed his bonds, and was making the best of his way across the
fields. Nor did he halt, night or day, till weary and exhausted he fell
down and slept by the first milestone that proclaimed that he was again
in British territory.
Nearly a year afterwards a motley band of ruffians might have been seen
walking up the main road at Mardan towards the Court-House. It was a
deputation from a far-away country come to discuss matters with the
political officer. At their head on a sorry steed rode the chief person:
at the roadside by the post-office, idly watching the party file past,
was a man of the Guides; and when the eyes of those two, the Guide and
the man on the pony, met, they both remembered the village well, and one
recollected how nearly it was his last night on earth.
"May you never grow weary," said the Guide in the polite formula of the
road.
"May your riches ever increase," came the stock reply.


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