“If you intend to kill me,” said Tugendheim, “why not be merciful and shoot me?” His voice was brave enough, but it seemed to me I detected a strain of terror in it.

“Few Germans are afraid to be shot to death,” said Ranjoor Singh.

“But what have I done to any of you that you should want to burn me alive?” asked Tugendheim; and that time I was positive his voice was forced.

“Haven’t you been told by your officers,” said Ranjoor Singh, “that the custom of us Sikhs is to burn all our prisoners alive?”

“Yes,” said Tugendheim.  “They told us that.  But that was only a tale to encourage the first-year men.  Having lived in India, I knew better.”

“Did you trouble yourself to tell anybody better?” asked Ranjoor Singh, but Tugendheim did not answer.

“Then can you give me any reason why you should not be burned alive here, now?” asked Ranjoor Singh.

“Yes!” said Tugendheim.  “It would be cruel.  It would be devil’s work!” He was growing very uneasy, although trying hard not to show it.

“Then give me a name for the tales you have been party to against us Sikhs!” said Ranjoor Singh; but once more the German refrained from answering.  The men were growing very attentive, breathing all in unison and careful to make no sound to disturb the talking.  At that instant a great burst of firing broke out over the water, so far away that I could only see one or two flashes, and, although that was none too reassuring to us, it seemed to Tugendheim like his death knell.  He set his lips and drew back half a step.

“Can you wish to live with the shame of all those lies against us on your heart—­you, who have lived in India and know so much better?” asked Ranjoor Singh.

“Of course I wish to live!” said Tugendheim.

“Have you any price to offer for your life?” asked Ranjoor Singh, and stepping back two paces he ordered a havildar with a loud voice to take six men and hunt for dry kindling.  “For there is not enough here,” said he.

“Price?” said Tugendheim.  “I have a handful of coins, and my uniform, and a sword.  You left my baggage on the steamer—­”

“Nay!” said Ranjoor Singh.  “Your baggage came ashore in one of the boats.  Where is it?  Who has it?”

A man stepped forward and pointed to it, lying in the shadow of the hut with the rain from the roof dripping down on it.

“Who brought it ashore?” asked Ranjoor Singh.

“I,” said the trooper.

“Then, for leaving it there in the rain, you shall carry it three days without assistance or relief!” said Ranjoor Singh.  “Get back to your place in the ranks!” And the man got back, saying nothing.  Ranjoor Singh picked up the baggage and tossed it past Tugendheim into the hut.

“That is all I have!” said Tugendheim.

“If you decide to burn, it shall burn with you,” said Ranjoor Singh, “and that trooper shall carry a good big stone instead to teach him manners!”