The Star of India
Copyright© 2026 by Edward S. Ellis
Chapter 15: The Star of India.
“Back with you into the grove!” added the guide, showing more excitement than at any time since leaving Delhi.
His first command was for the fugitives to make ready to fight, and Dr. Avery and the missionary drew their revolvers and placed themselves in front of the ladies.
Now when he changed his order, they were equally quick to obey, their promptness increased by the sound of the hoofs of galloping horses.
“Quick!” repeated the missionary to his wife and daughter, shoving them before him into the deep shade among the trees, while Avery came last, the native remaining in the path to confront the Ghoojurs.
The latter came in sight an instant later. They were Thug-like looking wretches, whom any man would dread to meet on a lonely road. There were six, all well mounted on small tough ponies, and armed with knives, pistols and guns, two of the latter being in plain view.
Their costume was as varied as their arms. One or two wore muslin coats, while others had only the waist cloth, being bare from their waists up. Their turbans were of different colors and shapes, from the gorgeous pile of muslin which decorated the head of the leader to a few yards of dirty rag that wound around the brow and crown of the poorest. One or two wore wooden shoes, with the soles curved and pointed upward in front. Some of the steeds were without saddles, and all the riders had jet black hair and eyes, savage mustaches, and scanty beards.
Luchman would have been glad had they gone by without stopping, for he knew their villainous nature only too well. The quickest way to arouse suspicion would have been to try to avoid them.
He therefore threw up his hand as a signal that he wanted to exchange a few words. They brought their ponies down from their brisk trot, and drew up close to him.
The parties who thus met were utter strangers to each other, but a glance at Luchman showed he was a native, and the presumption, therefore, was that he was a supporter of the revolt.
The fugitives crouching in the grove (with the exception of Avery) understood the conversation, which may be liberally translated:
“Ram, Ram, bhai (In Ram’s name, brother); whence come you?” asked the leading Ghoojur.
“From Delhi.”
“Why do you flee when there is so much loot to be gathered?”
“I have all I want; I leave the rest for my brothers.”
“What have you done with your share?”
“Placed it where no thief can find it,” was the daring answer of Luchman, who looked straight in the eye of the leading brigand.
“Is there plenty of loot left in the city?” asked the latter, his eyes flickering like those of a serpent.
“Enough to make tens of thousands rich, but the people from the country are flocking in so fast that it will soon be gone.”
This remark of the guide, I need hardly say, was intended to increase the eagerness of the Ghoojurs to reach the city.
“Where are the Feringhees?”
“They are all killed; the Mogul Empire is restored; the Emperor has issued his proclamation giving all good wages, and not one Feringhee shall be left in Hindostan.”
Luchman seemed to feel no compunction in drawing a lengthy bow.
“A great deal of the loot must be gone,” continued the leading Ghoojur, who, it was evident, had some suspicion respecting the tall sinewy native who stood so defiantly in the path before him; “many of the Feringhees and wealthy sahibs are fleeing from the city; they are hiding in the groves; they have money and jewels with them; ‘tis better that we should find them.”
This was an alarming declaration, and the fugitives who heard and understood it believed the brigands knew they were hiding near. Luchman himself was suspicious, but he did not let it be seen.
“There are many,” he said in his ordinary voice, “but they are harder to find than those in Delhi, and they fight better.”
“But there must be more loot to take from those on the road and in the groves.”
“It may be, but there is plenty left in the city for those who do not loiter on the way. If you wish to search the grove, do so.”
The ruffians looked in each other’s faces and muttered something. Then they seemed to conclude that the best thing to do was to move on toward Delhi. The leader gave Luchman a parting salutation, and the half dozen horsemen resumed their journey on a slow walk.
The little party hiding in the luxuriant vegetation stealthily watched every movement of the brigands, and breathed freely when they started forward again.
They had advanced only a few paces, however, when the leader uttered an exclamation and checked his horse. Luchman turned his head, and the Ghoojur beckoned him to approach.
“What is that?” he asked, pointing to the side of the path.
Luchman, to his dismay, saw a shred from the dress of Marian Hildreth that had been torn off in her hurried flight, and was fluttering from a bush as if the bright signal was meant to show every one who passed whither she had gone.
The texture of the shred, and the peculiar circumstances, spoke the nationality of the young lady too plainly for Luchman to attempt to mislead the scoundrels. He stood looking at the tell tale piece as though he was as much astounded as were the Ghoojurs themselves. Then he scanned the ground with the keen scrutiny of an American Indian.
“Yes,” he said, as if he had at last solved the problem; “a party of Feringhees have been this way; there were a good many, and,” looking up abruptly in the face of the leader, “do you want to attack them?”
“That I will decide for myself,” was the answer of the ruffian, as he sprang from his pony and began examining the ground for himself. He was as shrewd as Luchman, and it took him only a few minutes to learn that the fugitives were four in number, and that two of them were females. No more tempting prize could offer itself.
“We will follow them——”
The words of the Ghoojur leader were broken off by the crack of Luchman’s pistol, and the miscreant, who was facing about and addressing his men, threw up his arms half way to his head and toppled to the ground, his skull bored clean through by the bullet that was fired within ten feet of him.
Luchman let fly with the remaining chambers at the wretches, who were just beyond the fallen leader. Fortunately, Avery and Mr. Hildreth were quick to realize the evil, and each of them fired his rifle into the group.
The attack on the Ghoojurs was so sudden that they wheeled their horses about, and, throwing themselves forward on their necks, galloped off on a dead run. None of them fell to the ground, but several must have been hit hard. They were desperate men, and Luchman knew they would soon be back. He therefore ran toward his friends.
“Don’t lose a minute, sahibs,” said he; “they will soon return; I hear them now!”
The last remark was rather premature, but allowance must be made for the excitement of the occasion.
The grove was dense, and Luchman as usual led the way. At the outer edge they saw cultivated fields, and observing no one was in sight, the guide moved rapidly across the open space toward the welcome shade of another large grove at the north. Fairly within the shelter of this, Luchman told his friends to seat themselves on the ground and rest from their hurried flight, while he moved back to learn what had become of the Ghoojurs.
The guide soon returned, saying he had discovered no sign of them. It might be that their repulse was so severe that they would not attempt to revenge themselves unless they should be joined by others of their class.
“Night is at hand,” added their guide, “and we may as well stay here, for if we venture out we are more likely to be seen. While we wait let us load our weapons.”
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