, yet with
all he had to think about and all his aches, he had understanding
enough to spare for my little problem. He saw at once that he must
punish the man in order to convince him his account with me was
settled.

"Be driver of asses," he ordered, "until we reach Persia! There were
five asses. One is dead. 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. Consider him, sahib, seated on
the dead ass beside ten chests of captured gold, with scarcely a man
of us fit to help him or obey an order, and himself bleeding in
fifty places where the hail had pierced his skin. We were drenched
and numbed, with the spirit beaten out of us; yet I tell you he
wiped the blood from his nose and beard and made us save ourselves!

CHAPTER VIII

Once in a lifetime. Once is enough!--HIRA SINGH.

Well, sahib, our journey was not nearly at an end, but my tale is; I
can finish it by sundown. After that fight there was no more doubt
of us; we were one again--one in our faith in our leader, and with
men so minded such a man as Ranjoor Singh can make miracles seem
like details of a day's work.

Turks who had been bayoneted and Turks slain by hailstones lay all
about us, and we should have been dead, too, only that the hail was
in our backs. As it was, ten of our men lay killed and more than
thirty stunned, some of whom did not recover. Our little Greek
doctor announced himself too badly injured to help any one, but when
Ranjoor Singh began to choose a firing party for him, he changed his
mind.

The four living donkeys were too bruised by the hail to bear a load,
but the Turks had had some mules with them and we loaded our dead
and wounded on those, gathered up the plunder, told off four
troopers to each chest of gold, and dragged ourselves away. It was
essential that we get back to the hills before dawn should disclose
our predicament, for whatever Kurds should chance to spy us would
never have been restrained by promises or by ritual of friendship
from taking prompt advantage. A savage is a savage.

The moon came out from behind clouds, and we cursed it, for we did
not want to be seen. It shone on a world made white