The Turks and Tugendheim I saw placed in the midst of all the other unmounted men, and ordered them guarded like felons; and I bade those in charge of mules and horses stand by, ready to muzzle their beasts with coats or what-not, to prevent neighing and braying.  Then I returned to the top of the rise and lay down, praying to God, with a trooper beside me who might run and try to shake Ranjoor Singh back to life in case of direst need.

I lay and heard my heart beat like a drum against the ground, praying one moment, and with the next breath cursing some hoof-beat from behind me and the muffled reprimand that was certain to follow it.  The men were as afraid as I, and the thing I feared most of all was panic.  Yet what more could I do than I had done?  I lay and watched the camels, and every step that brought them nearer felt like a link in a chain that bound us all.

One thing became perfectly evident before long.  There were not more than two hundred camels, therefore in a fight we should be able to beat them off easily.  But unless we could ambuscade them (and there was no time to prepare that now) it would be impossible to kill or capture them all.  Some would get away and those would carry the alarm to the nearest military post.  Then gone would be all hope for us of evading capture or destruction.  But it was also obvious to me that no such caravan would come straight on toward us at such speed if it knew of our existence or our whereabouts.  They expected us as little as we expected them.

So I lay still, trembling, wondering what Ranjoor Singh would say to me, supposing he did not die in the cart there—­wondering what the matter might be with Ranjoor Singh—­wondering what I should do supposing he did die and we escaped from this present predicament.  I knew there was little hope of my maintaining discipline without Ranjoor Singh’s aid.  And I had not the least notion whither to lead, unless toward Russia.

Such thoughts made me physically sick, so that it was relief to turn away from them and watch the oncoming caravan, especially as I began to suspect it would not come within a mile of us.  Presently I began to be certain that it would cross our track rather less than a mile away.  I began to whisper to myself excitedly.  Then at last “Yes!” said I, aloud.

“Yes!” said a voice beside me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin, “unless they suspect the track of our cart-wheels and follow it up, we are all right!”

I looked round into the eyes of Ranjoor Singh, and felt my whole skin creep like a snake’s at sloughing time!

“Sahib!” said I.

“You have done well enough,” said he, “except that if attacked you would have hard work to gather your forces and control them.  But never mind, you did quite well enough for this first time!” said Ranjoor Singh.

“Sahib!” I said.  “But I thought you were in a cart, dying!”

“In a cart, yes!” he said.  “Dying, no—­although that was no fault of somebody’s!”