“Had he no pistol?” asked Ranjoor Singh.

“Yes,” said I, “but I took it when we bound and gagged him on the steamer.”  And I drew it out and showed it, feeling proud, never having had such a weapon—­for the law of British India is strict.

“Why did you not tell me?” he asked, and I was silent.  “Give it here!” said he, and I gave it up.  He examined it, drew out the cartridges, and passed it to Tugendheim, who pocketed it with a laugh.  It was three days before he spoke to Tugendheim and caused him to give me the pistol back.  I think the men were impressed, and I was glad of it, although at the time I felt ashamed.

Presently Ranjoor Singh himself chose an advance guard of twenty men and put me in command of it.

“March eastward,” he ordered me.  “According to my map, you should find a road within a mile or two running about northeast and southwest; turn to the left along it.  Halt if you see armed men, and send back word.  Keep a lookout for food, for the men are starving, but loot nothing without my order!  March!” said he.

“May I ask a question, sahib,” said I, still lingering.

“Ask,” said he.

“Would you truly have burned the German alive?” said I, and he laughed.

“That would have been a big fire,” said he.  “Do you think none would have come to investigate?”

“That is what I was thinking,” said I.

“Do such thoughts burn your brain?” said he.  “A threat to a bully—­ to a fool, folly—­to a drunkard, drink—­to each, his own!  Be going now!”

So I saluted him and led away, wondering in my heart, the weather growing worse, if that were possible, but my spirits rising.  I knew now that my back was toward Gallipoli, where the nearest British were, yet my heart felt bold with love for Ranjoor Singh and I did not doubt we would strike a good blow yet for our friends, although I had no least idea who Wassmuss was, nor whither we were marching.  If I had known—­eh, but listen, sahib—­this is a tale of tales!

CHAPTER V

If a man stole my dinner, I might let him run; but if he stole my horse, he and I and death would play hide-and-seek!  —­Ranjoor Singh

That dawn, sahib, instead of lessening, the rainstorm grew into a deluge that saved us from being seen.  As I led my twenty men forward I looked back a time or two, and once I could dimly see steamers and some smaller boats tossing on the sea.  Then the fiercest gust of rain of all swept by like a curtain, and it was as if Europe had been shut off forever—­so that I recalled Gooja Singh’s saying on the transport in the Red Sea, about a curtain being drawn and our not returning that way.  My twenty men marched numbly, some seeming half-asleep.