It was an hour before Ranjoor Singh could calm him, and another hour again before cross-examination induced him to tell all the truth; and the truth was not reassuring.  Wassmuss, he said, probably did not know yet that we had taken the gold, but the news was on the way, for spies had talked in the night with the ten Kurds whom he left with us to be guides and to help us keep peace.  We had given those ten a Turkish rifle each and various other plunder, because they helped us in the fight, and they had promised in return to hold their tongues.  But a savage is a savage, and there is no controverting it.

“What is Wassmuss likely to do?” Ranjoor Singh asked.

“Do?” said the Kurd.  “He has done!  He has set two tribes by the ears and sent them down to surround you and hem you in and starve you to surrender!  So give me the gold, that I may get away with it before a thousand men come to prevent, and give me back my hostages!”

If what was happening now had taken place but a week before, Ranjoor Singh would have found himself in a fine fix, for all except I would have there and then denounced him for a bungler, or a knave.  But now the other daffadars who clustered around him and me said one to the other, “Let us see what our sahib makes of it!” The men sent word to know what was being revealed through two long hours of talk, and Chatar Singh went back to bid them have patience.

“Is there trouble?” they asked, and he answered “Aye!”

“Tell our sahib we stand behind him!” they answered, and Chatar Singh brought that message and I think it did Ranjoor Singh’s heart good,—­not that he would not have done his best in any case.

“You have lost my hostage, and I hold yours,” he told the Kurd, “so now, if you want yours back you must pay whatever price I name for them!”

“Who am I to pay a price?” the Kurd demanded.  “I have neither gold nor goods, nor anything but three hundred men!”

“Where are thy men?” asked Ranjoor Singh.

“Within an hour’s ride,” said the Kurd, “watching for the men who come from Wassmuss.”

“You shall have back your hostages,” said Ranjoor Singh, “when I and my men set foot in Persia!”

“How shall you reach Persia?” laughed the Kurd.  “A thousand men ride now to shut you off!  Nay, give me the gold and my men, and ride back whence you came!”

Then it was Ranjoor Singh’s turn to laugh.  “Sikhs who are facing homeward turn back for nothing less than duty!” he answered.  “I shall fight the thousand men that Wassmuss sends.  If they conquer me they will take the gold and your hostages as well.”

The Kurd looked amazed.  Then he looked thoughtful.  Then acquisitive--very acquisitive indeed.  It seemed to me that he contemplated fighting us first, before the Wassmuss men could come.  But Ranjoor Singh understood him better.  That Kurd was no fool—­only a savage, with a great hunger in him to become powerful.