CHAPTER XVIII.
Oh, is it good, my soldier prince and is the wisdom clear, To guard thy front a thousand strong, while ten may take thy rear?
Now, because it was impregnable to almost anything except a yet-to-be-invented air-ship, the Alwa-sahib owned a fortress still, high-perched on a crag that overlooked a glittering expanse of desert.
More precious than its bulk in diamonds, a spring of clear, cold water from the rock-lined depths of mother earth gushed out through a fissure near the Summit, and round that spring had been built, in bygone centuries, a battlemented nest to breed and turn out warriors.
Alwa's grandfather had come by it through complicated bargaining and dowry-contracts, and Alwa now held it as the rallying-point for the Rangars thereabout.
But its defensibility was practically all the crag fort had to offer by way of attraction.

Down at its foot, where the stream of rushing water splashed in a series of cascades to the thirsty, sandy earth, there were an acre or two of cultivation--sufficient, in time of peace, to support an attenuated garrison and its horses.

But for his revenues the Alwa-sahib had to look many a long day's march afield.

Leagues of desert lay between him and the nearest farm he owned, and since--more in the East than anywhere--a landlord's chief absorption is the watching of his rents, it followed that he spent the greater part of his existence in the saddle, riding from one widely scattered tenant to another.
It was luck or fortuitous circumstance--Fate, he would have called it, had he wasted time to give it name--that brought him along a road where, many miles from Howrah City, he caught sight of Joanna.

Needless to say, he took no slightest notice of her.
Dog-weary, parched, sore-footed, she was hurrying along the burning, sandy trail that led in the direction of Alwa's fort.