“We might have made the attempt!” said Gooja Singh, and a dozen men murmured approval.

“Simpletons!” came the answer.  “The Germans laid their plans for the first for photographs to lend color to lies about the Sikh troops fighting for them!  Ye would have played into their hands!”

“What then?” said I, after a minute, for at that answer they had all grown dumb.

“What then?” said he.  “Why, this:  We are in Asia, but still on Turkish soil.  We need food.  We shall need shelter before many hours.  And we need discipline, to aid our will to overcome!  Therefore there never was a regiment more fiercely disciplined than this shall be!  From now until we bring up in a British camp—­and God knows when or where that may happen!—­the man who as much as thinks of disobedience plays with death!  Death—­ye be as good as dead men now!” said he.

He shook himself.  A sense of loneliness had come on me since he told us we were in Asia, and I think the men felt as I did.  There had been nothing to eat on the steamer, and there was nothing now.  Hunger and cold and rain were doing their work.  But Ranjoor Singh stood and shook himself, and moved slowly along the line to look in each man’s face, and I took new courage from his bearing.  If I could have known what he had in store for us, I would have leaped and shouted.  Yet, no, sahib; that is not true.  If he had told me what was coming, I would never have believed.  Can the sahib imagine, for instance, what was to happen next?

“Ye are as good as dead men!” he said, coming back to the center and facing all the men.  “Consider!” said he.  “Our ship is sunk and the Turks, to save their own skins, will swear they saw us drown.  Who, then, will come and hunt for dead men?”

I could see the eyes of the nearest men opening wider as new possibilities began to dawn.  As for me—­my two hands shook.

“And we have with us,” said he, “a hostage who might prove useful—­a hostage who might prove amenable to reason.  Bring out the prisoner!” said he.

So I bade Tugendheim come forth.  He was sitting on the straw where the guards had pushed him, still working sullenly to free his hands.  He came and peered through the doorway into darkness, and Ranjoor Singh stood aside to let the men see him.  They can not have seen much, for it was now that utter gloom that precedes dawn.  Nor can Tugendheim have seen much.

“Do you wish to live or die?” asked Ranjoor Singh, and the German gaped at him.

“That is a strange question!” he said.

“Is it strange,” asked Ranjoor Singh, “that a prisoner should be asked for information?”

“I am not afraid to die,” said Tugendheim.

“You mean by rifle-fire?” asked Ranjoor Singh, and Tugendheim nodded.

“But there are other kinds of fire,” said Ranjoor Singh.

“What do you mean?” asked Tugendheim.

“Why,” said Ranjoor Singh, “if we were to fire this hut to warm ourselves, and you should happen to be inside it—­what then?”