I begged him to explain, and while we watched the camels cross our track—­(God knows, sahib, why they did not grow suspicious and follow along it)—­he told me how he had sat on the great rock, not very sleepy, but thinking, chin on knee, when suddenly some man crawled up from behind and struck him a heavy blow.

“Feel my head,” said he, and I felt under his turban.  There was a bruise the size of my folded fist.  I swore—­as who would not?  “Is it deep?” I said, still watching the camels, and before he answered me he sent the trooper to go and find his horse.

“Superficial,” he said then.  “By the favor of God but a water bruise.  My head must have yielded beneath the blow.”

“Who struck it?” said I, scarcely thinking what I said, for my mind was full of the camels, now flank toward us, that would have served our purpose like the gift of God could we only have contrived to capture them.

“How should I know?” he answered.  “See—­they pass within a half-mile of where I sat.  Is not that the rock?” And I said yes.

“Had you lingered there,” he said, “word about us would have gone back to Angora at top camel speed.  What possessed you to come away?”

“God!” said I, and he nodded, so that I began to preen myself.  He noticed my gathering self-esteem.

“Nevertheless,” he said, aloud, but as if talking to himself, yet careful that I should hear, “had this not happened to me I should have seen those camels on the sky-line.  Did you count the camels?”

“Two hundred and eight,” said I.

“How many armed men with them?” he asked.  “My eyes are yet dim from the blow.”

“One hundred and four,” said I, “and an officer or two.”

He nodded.  “The prisoners would have been a nuisance,” he said, “yet we might have used them later.  What with camels and what with horses—­and there is a good spot for an ambuscade through which they must pass presently—­I went and surveyed it while they cooked my dinner—­never mind, never mind!” said he.  “If you had made a mistake it would have been disastrous.  Yet—­two hundred and eight camels would have been an acquisition—­a great acquisition!”

So my self-esteem departed—­like water from a leaky goatskin, and I lay beside him watching the last dozen camels cross our trail, the nose of one tied to the tail of another, one man to every two.  I lay conjecturing what might have been our fate had I had cunning enough to capture that whole caravan, and not another word was spoken between us until the last two camels disappeared beyond a ridge.  Then: 

“Was there any man close by, when you found me?” asked Ranjoor Singh.

“Nay, sahib,” said I.

“Was there any man whose actions, or whose words, gave ground for suspicion?” he asked.

“Nay, sahib,” I began; but I checked myself, and he noticed it.

“Except—?” said he.

“Except that when Gooja Singh came,” I said, “he seemed unwilling to believe you were asleep.”