and many a night I followed him, not always with his
knowledge. I intended to protect him, but I also wished to know what
the doings were.

There was a woman. Did the sahib ever hear of a plot that had not a
woman in it? He went to the woman's house. In hiding, I heard her
sneer at him. I heard her mock him. I would have doubted him forever
if I had heard her praise him, but she did not, and I knew him to be
a true man.

Ours is more like the French than the British system; there is more
intercourse between officer and non-commissioned officer and man.
But Ranjoor Singh is a silent man, and we of his squadron, though we
respected him, knew little of what was in his mind. When there began
to be talk about his knowing German, and about his secrecy, and
about his nights spent at HER place, who could answer? We all knew
he knew German.

There were printed pamphlets from God-knows-where, and letters from
America, that made pretense at explanations; and there were spies
who whispered. My voice, saying I had listened and seen and that I
trusted, was as a quail's note when the monsoon bursts. None heard.
So that in the end I held my tongue. I even began to doubt.

Then a trooper of ours was murdered in the bazaar, and Ranjoor
Singh's servant disappeared. Within an hour Ranjoor Singh was gone,
too.

Then came news of war. Then our officers came among us to ask
whether we are willing or not to take a hand in this great quarrel.
Perhaps in that hour if they had not asked us we might have judged
that we and they were not one after all.

But they did ask, and let a man, an arrow, and an answer each go
straight, say we. Our Guru tells us Sikhs should fight ever on the
side of the oppressed; the weaker the oppressed, the more the reason
for our taking part with them. Our officers made no secret about the
strength of the enemy, and we made none with them of our feeling in
the matter. They were proud men that day. Colonel Kirby was a very
proud man. We were prouder than he, except when we thought of
Ranjoor Singh.

Then, as it were out of the night itself, there came a message by
word of mouth from Ranjoor Singh saying he will be with us before
the blood shall run. We were overjoyed at that, and talked about it
far into the night; yet when dawn had come doubt again had hold of
us, and I think I was the only Sikh in the regiment ready to swear
to his integrity. Once, at least a squadron of us had loved him to
the death becaus