e nearest military post. Then gone would be all hope for
us of evading capture or destruction. But it was also obvious to me
that no such caravan would come straight on toward us at such speed
if it knew of our existence or our whereabouts. They expected us as
little as we expected them.

So I lay still, trembling, wondering what Ranjoor Singh would say to
me, supposing he did not die in the cart there--wondering what the
matter might be with Ranjoor Singh--wondering what I should do
supposing he did die and we escaped from this present predicament. I
knew there was little hope of my maintaining discipline without
Ranjoor Singh's aid. And I had not the least notion whither to lead,
unless toward Russia.

Such thoughts made me physically sick, so that it was relief to turn
away from them and watch the oncoming caravan, especially as I began
to suspect it would not come within a mile of us. Presently I began
to be certain that it would cross our track rather less than a mile
away. I began to whisper to myself excitedly. Then at last "Yes!"
said I, aloud.

"Yes!" said a voice beside me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin,
"unless they suspect the track of our cart-wheels and follow it up,
we are all right!"

I looked round into the eyes of Ranjoor Singh, and felt my whole
skin creep like a snake's at sloughing time!

"Sahib!" said I.

"You have done well enough," said he, "except that if attacked you
would have hard work to gather your forces and control them. But
never mind, you did quite well enough for this first time!" said
Ranjoor Singh.

"Sahib!" I said. "But I thought you were in a cart, dying!"

"In a cart, yes!" he said. "Dying, no--although that was no fault of
somebody's!"

I begged him to explain, and while we watched the camels cross our
track--(God knows, sahib, why they did not grow suspicious and
follow along it)--he told me how he had sat on the great rock, not
very sleepy, but thinking, chin on knee, when suddenly some man
crawled up from behind and struck him a heavy blow.

"Feel my head," said he, and I felt under his turban. There was a
bruise the size of my folded fist. I swore--as who would not? "Is it
deep?" I said, still watching the camels, and before he answered me
he sent the trooper to go and find his horse.

"Superficial," he said then. "By the favor of God but a water
bruise. My head must have yielded beneath the blow."

"Who struck it?" said I, scarcely thinking what I said,