“My men are seasoned warriors,” said Ranjoor Singh, “and being men of our word first and last, we are good allies.  Has my brother a suggestion?”

“What if I help you into Persia?” said the Kurd.

But Ranjoor Singh was wary.  “Help me in what way?” he asked, and the Kurd saw it was no use to try trickery.

“What if I and my men fight beside you and yours, and so you win through to Persia?” asked the Kurd.

“As I said,” said Ranjoor Singh, “you shall have back your hostages on the day we set foot in Persia.”

“But the gold!” said the Kurd.  “But the gold!”

“Half of the gold you shall have on the third day after we reach Persia,” said Ranjoor Singh.

Well, sahib, as to that they higgled and bargained for another hour, Ranjoor Singh yielding little by little until at last the bargain stood that the Kurd should have all the gold except one chest on the seventh day after we reached Persia.  Thus, the Kurds would be obliged to give us escort well on our way.  But the bargaining was not over yet.  It was finally agreed that after we reached Persia, provided the Kurds helped us bravely and with good faith, on the first day we would give them back their hostages; on the third day we would give them Tugendheim, to trade with Wassmuss against the Kurd’s brother (thus keeping Ranjoor Singh’s promise to Tugendheim to provide for him in the end); on the fifth day we would give them our Turkish officer prisoners, to trade with the Turks against Kurdish prisoners; and on the seventh day we would give them the gold and leave to go.  We ate more bread and salt on that, and then I went to tell the men.

But I scarcely had time to tell them.  Ranjoor Singh had out his map when I left him, and he and the Kurd were poring over it, he tracing with a finger and asking swift questions, and the Kurd with the aid of Abraham trying to understand.  Yet I had hardly told the half of what I meant to say when Ranjoor Singh strode past me, and the Kurd went galloping away between the boulders to warn his own men, leaving us not only the hostages but the ten guides also.

“Make ready to march at once—­immediately—­ek dum!” Ranjoor Singh growled to me as he passed, and from that minute until we were away and well among the hills I was kept too busy with details to do much conjecturing.  A body of soldiers with transport and prisoners, wounded and sick, need nearly as much herding as a flock of sheep, even after months of campaigning when each man’s place and duty should be second nature.  Yet oh, it was different now.  There was no need now to listen for whisperings of treason!  Now we knew who the traitor had been all along—­not Ranjoor Singh, who had done his best from first to last, but Gooja Singh, who had let no opportunity go by for defaming him and making trouble!

“This for Gooja Singh when I set eyes on him!” said not one trooper but every living man, licking a cartridge and slipping it into the breech chamber as we started.