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Updated: June 10, 2025
Five minutes later Kirby caught a general at breakfast, and was received with courtesy and feigned surprise. "D'you happen to know anything about my risaldar-major, Ranjoor Singh?" asked Kirby, after a hasty apology for bursting in. "Why?" "He was under suspicion yesterday I was told so. Next he disappeared.
Dumb misery was stamped on the Sikh's face, the despair of evaporated savagery on the Afridi's. "Jagut Singh!" said the risaldar-major, louder this time; and the trooper looked up, almost as if hope had been that instant born in him. "Jagut Singh!" The trooper grinned. A white row of ivory showed between his black beard and mustache.
For instance" he hesitated, trying to imagine something out of the unimaginable "suppose the risaldar-major were to come out, then give him the message and come home with him. But oh, suppose the place takes fire, or there's a riot, or you hear a fight going on inside then hurry to barracks understand?" The wet trooper nodded and saluted.
Ranjoor Singh stood aghast at sight of him, and the trooper saluted like an automaton, since nothing save obedience was any affair of his. "Evening, Risaldar-Major!" smiled the general. "Salaam, General sahib!" "To save time, I will tell you that I know stage by stage how you got here." Ranjoor Singh looked suspicious.
"Now some token, please, Risaldar-Major, that Colonel Kirby will be sure to recognize something to prove that the note is not forged." Ranjoor Singh pulled a ring from his finger and held it out. "Colonel Kirby sahib gave me this," he said simply. "Thanks. Shake hands, will you? I've been talking to a man to-night to two men if I ever did in my life!
With the other he urged him, thus." The babu described in pantomime an imaginary human riding for his life, whom not even the adroitest police officer could recognize as Ranjoor Singh, even had he been acquainted with the risaldar-major. "Had he a weapon of any kind?" "Not knowing, would prefer to say nothing about that.
But of Risaldar-major Ranjoor Singh bahadur in the flesh, I have not had another glimpse. I went in search of him the very first evening, only to learn that he had "passed his medical" that afternoon and had returned at once to active service. We Sikhs have a proverb, sahib, that the ruler and the ruled are one.
"Present my compliments to Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh sahib, and ask him to be good enough to see me here." The servant saluted and was gone. Kirby relapsed again into the depth of the chair, staring at the wall in front of him, letting his eye travel from one to another of the accurately spaced-out pictures, pieces of furniture and trophies that proclaimed him unmarried.
In front of the third squadron from the right, Risaldar-Major Ranjoor Singh sat his charger like a big bronze statue. He would have stooped to see his right spur bettor, that shone in spite of mud, for though he has been a man these five-and-twenty years, Ranjoor Singh has neither lost his boyhood love of such things, nor intends to; he has been accused of wearing solid silver spurs in bed.
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