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Presently the fools will come and pour water enough to fill this passage. Thus none may follow us! Come!" Ranjoor Singh was gathered up and carried by frightened women he could feel them tremble. For a moment he felt the outer air, and he caught the shout of a crowd that had seen flames. Then he was thrown face downward on the floor of some sort of carriage and driven away.
Not knowing our tongue, those officers were obliged to converse with him in English, and I observed many times with what distaste they did so, to my great amusement. I think Ranjoor Singh was also much amused by that, for he grew far better humored and readier to talk.
Then, because the Kurds could not be trusted on such an errand, Ranjoor Singh sent me back with fifty men to bring on the Syrians and our mules and belongings, and the gold. He gave me Chatar Singh to help, and glad I was to have him. A brave good daffadar is Chatar Singh, and now that all suspicion of our leader was weaned out of him, I could ask for no better comrade on a dark night.
But such things are mental, sahib, and not to be explained like the fire of heavy guns or the shock tactics of cavalry although not one atom less effective. If Ranjoor Singh had lined up the men and argued with them, there might have been mutiny.
Then Ranjoor Singh recalled the offices that men had done for him when he was wounded. He asked the German if he might send messages, and to whom. But the dying man seemed to be speechless, and only writhed. It was nearly a minute before Ranjoor Singh divined his purpose, and pounced on the hand that lay underneath him. He wrenched away another pistol only just in time.
He went and stood near the window, and when Kirby had seen Brammle to the door, he joined him there. "What now, Warrington?" "Caught 'em grooming Ranjoor Singh's charger in the dark!" "Why?" "Said it was an order from Ranjoor Singh!" "I'm getting tired of this. I don't know what to make of it." "That isn't nearly the worst, sir. Listen to this!
I went to change the guard, for some of our men were put on sentry-go that night outside the officers' quarters, in spite of our utter weariness. We were smarter than the Kurds, and German officers like smartness. Weary though Ranjoor Singh must have been, he sat late with the German officers, for the most part keeping silence while they talked.
"Wherever the German flag should fly, after a war, the Sikhs would have free footing." Ranjoor Singh looked interested, even pleased. "Who is not against Germany is for her." "Let us have plain words' said Ranjoor Singh, leading the way to a corner in which he judged they could not be overheard; there he turned suddenly, borrowing a trick from Yasmini. "I am a Sikh a patriot.
"Nevertheless," said Ranjoor Singh, "I will speak no plain words here." The Kurd looked long at him at least a whole minute. Then he wiped his nose on the long sleeve of his tunic and turned about. "Come in peace!" he said, spurring his horse. Ranjoor Singh followed him, and we followed Ranjoor Singh, without one word spoken or order given.
It is good we have another to replace the fifth!" There goes the trooper, sahib he yonder with the limp. He and I are as good friends to-day as daffadar and trooper can be, but he would have slain me to save himself from vengeance unless Ranjoor Singh had punished him that night. But my tale is not of that trooper, nor of myself. I tell of Ranjoor Singh.
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