However, I knew very little Hindustani, nothing of the language the
women spoke. I was too weak to stand, too weak even to think much; and I
dozed and woke, and dozed again, until, after what seemed to me many
hours of travel, we stopped again, this time before a tent. Two or three
old women and four or five men came out, and there was great talking
between them and the young women--for they were young--who had carried
me down. Some of the party appeared angry; but at last things quieted
down, and I was carried into the tent. I had fever, and was, I suppose,
delirious for days. I afterwards found that for fully a fortnight I had
lost all consciousness; but a good constitution and the nursing of the
women pulled me round. When once the fever had gone, I began to mend
rapidly. I tried to explain to the women that if they would go up to the
camp and tell them where I was they would be well rewarded; but although
I was sure they understood, they shook their heads, and by the fact that
as I became stronger two or three armed men always hung about the tent,
I came to the conclusion that I was a sort of prisoner. This was
annoying, but did not seem serious. If these people were Dacoits, or, as
was more likely, allies of the Dacoits, I could be kept only for ransom
or exchange. Moreover, I felt sure of my ability to escape when I got
strong, especially as I believed that in the young women who had saved
my life, both by bringing me down and by their careful nursing, I should
find friends."

"Were they pretty, uncle?" Mary Hastings broke in.

"Never mind whether they were pretty, Mary; they were better than
pretty."

"No; but we like to know, uncle."