At last the Bakhtiari Khans began guerrilla warfare, and the Kurds who were escorting the Germans retaliated by burning and plundering the villages by which they passed—­which incensed the Khans yet more, because they did not belong to that part of Persia and had counted on the plunder for themselves.  From time to time we caught a Bakhtiari Khan, and though they spoke poor Persian, some of us could understand them.  They explained that the Persian government, being very weak, made use of them to terrorize whatever section of the country seemed rebellious—­surely a sad way to govern a land!

There were not very many of the Khans.  They are used to raiding in parties of thirty to fifty, or perhaps a hundred.  I think there were not many more of them than of the German party and us combined; and at that the Bakhtiari Khans were all divided into independent troops.  So that the danger was not so serious as it seemed.  But guerrilla warfare is very trying to the nerves, and if we had not had Ranjoor Singh to lead us we should have failed in the end; for we were fighting in a strange land, with no base to fall back on and nothing to do but press forward.

The Kurds, too, who escorted the Germans, began to grow sick of it.  Little parties of them began to pass us on their way home, giving us a wide berth, but passing close enough, nevertheless, to get some sort of protection from our proximity, and the numbers of those parties grew and grew until we laughed at the thought of what anxiety the Germans must be suffering.  Yet Ranjoor Singh grew anxious, too, for the Khans grew bolder.  It began to look as if neither Germans nor we would ever reach half-way to the Afghan border.  Ranjoor Singh was the finest leader men could have, but we were being sniped eternally, men falling wounded here and there until scarcely one of us but had a hurt of some kind—­to say nothing of our sick.  Men grew sick from bad food, and unaccustomed food, and hard riding and exposure.  Our little Greek doctor took sick and died, and we had nothing but ignorance left with which to treat our ailments.  We began to be a sorry-looking regiment indeed.  Nevertheless, the ignorance helped, for at least we did not know how serious our wounds were.  I myself received one bullet that passed through both ankles, and it is not likely I shall ever walk again without a limp.  Yet if I can ride what does that matter so long as the government has horses?  And if a man limps in both feet wherein is he the loser?  Mine was a slight wound compared to some of them.  We had come to a poor pass, but Ranjoor Singh’s good sense saved the day again.