The shell-fire increased from both sides.  Where the British infantry lay was such a lake of flame and din that the very earth seemed to burst apart; yet the answering rifle-fire was steady—­steady as the roll of drums.  Then we truly saw one red light, and “Ek!” said we all at once.  Ek means one, sahib, but it sounded like the opening of a breech-block.  “Mount!” ordered Colonel Kirby, and we mounted.

While I held my breath and watched for the second light I heard a new noise behind me, different from the rest, and therefore audible--a galloping horse and a challenge close at hand.  I saw in the light of a bursting shell a Sikh officer, close followed by a trooper on a blown horse.  I saw the officer ride to Colonel Kirby’s side, rein in his charger, and salute.  At that instant there swung two red lights, and “Do!” said the regiment.  Do means two, sahib, but it sounded like the thump of ordnance.  “Draw sabers!” commanded Colonel Kirby, and the rear ranks drew.  The front-rank men had lances.

By the light of a star-shell I could plainly see the Sikh officer and trooper.  I recognized the charger—­a beast with the devil in him and the speed of wind.  I recognized both men.  I thought a shell must have struck me.  I must be dead and in a new world.  I let my horse edge nearer, not believing—­until ears confirmed eyes.  I heard Colonel Kirby speak, very loud, indeed, as a man to whom good news comes.

“Ranjoor Singh!” said he; and he took him by the hand and wrung it.  “Thank God!” he said, speaking from the heart as the British do at times when they forget that others listen.  “Thank God, old man!  You’ve come in the nick of time!”

So I was right, and my heart leapt in me.  He was with us before the blood ran!  Every man in the squadron recognized him now, and I knew every eye had watched to see Colonel Kirby draw saber and cut him down, for habit of thought is harder to bend than a steel bar.  But I could feel the squadron coming round to my way of thinking as Colonel Kirby continued talking to him, obviously making him an explanation of our plan.

“Join your squadron, man—­hurry!” I heard Colonel Kirby say at last, for taking advantage of the darkness I had let my horse draw very near to them.  Now I had to rein back and make pretense that my horse had been unruly, for Ranjoor Singh came riding toward us, showing his teeth in a great grin, and Captain Fellowes with a word of reproof thrown back to me spurred on to meet him.

“Hurrah, Major Ranjoor Singh!” said Captain Fellowes.  “I’m damned glad to see you!” That was a generous speech, sahib, from a man who must now yield command of the squadron, but Captain Fellowes had a heart like a bridegroom’s always.  He must always glory in the squadron’s luck, and he loved us better than himself.  That was why we loved him.  They shook hands, and looked in each other’s eyes.  Ranjoor Singh wheeled his charger.  And in that same second we all together saw three red lights swinging by the corner.