“An Armenian by name of Ephraim came and said you had gone over to the Turks.  Certain men he had with him corroborated, but three of his party kept silence.  My lord sahib answered ’I have hunted, and camped, and fought beside that man—­played and starved and feasted with him.  No more than I myself would he go over to Turks.  He must have seen an opportunity to make trouble behind the Turks’ backs.  Take your squadron and go find him, Rustum Khan!’ And I, sahib, obeyed my lord bahadur’s orders.”

“Where is Lord Montdidier now?”

“Who knows, sahib.  Wherever the greatest need at the moment is.”

“Tell me what has happened.”

“You did well, sahib.  The loosing of the horses and the shooting behind their backs put fear into the Kurds.  They ceased pressing on our left wing.  And I—­watching from behind cover on the right wing—­snatched that moment to outflank them, so that they ran pell-mell.  Then I saw the mounted Kurds charging up from the rear, and guessed at once where you were, sahib.  The Kurds were extended, and my men in close order, so I charged and had all the best of it, arriving by God’s favor in the nick of time for you, sahib.  Then I took this colonel prisoner.  Only once in my life have I seen a greater pile than his of empty cartridge cases beside one man.  That was the pile beside you, sahib!  How many men did you kill, and he kill?  And who buried them?”

“Where is Miss Vanderman?” I asked, turning the subject.

“God knows!  What do I know of women?  Only I know this:  that there is a gipsy woman bred by Satan out of sin itself, who will make things hot for any second filly in this string!  Woe and a woman are one!”

Not caring to listen to the Indian’s opinions of the other sex any more than he would have welcomed mine about the ladies of his own land, I made out my injuries were worse than was the case, and groaned a little, and grew silent.

So we rode without further conversation up to where Fred and Will were standing with Kagig, and as I tumbled off into Fred’s arms I was greeted with a chorus of welcome that included Gloria’s voice.

“That’s what I call using your bean!” she laughed, in the slangy way she had whenever Will had the chance to corrupt her Boston manners.

“It feels baked,” I said.  “I used it to stop a Kurd’s lance with.  Hullo!  What’s the matter with you?”

“I stopped a bullet with my forearm!”

She was sitting in a sort of improvised chair between two dwarfed tree-trunks, and if ever I saw a proud young woman that was she.  She wore the bloody bandage like a prize diploma.

“And I’ve seen your friend Monty, and he’s better than the accounts of him!”

I glanced at Will, alert for a sign of jealousy.

“Monty is the one best bet!” he said.  And his eyes were generous and level, as a man’s who tells the whole truth.