was
only born to its careless use.)

"How long do you expect to remain on the sick list?" I asked,
because a woman once told me that the way to make a man talk is to
seem to be interested in himself.

"Who knows?" said he.

He showed me about the camp, and we came to a stand at last under
the branches of an enormous mango tree. Early though it was, a Sikh
non-commissioned officer was already sitting propped against the
trunk with his bandaged feet stretched out in front of him--a
peculiar attitude for a Sikh.

"That one knows English," my guide said, nodding. And making me a
most profound salaam, he added: "Why not talk with him? I have
duties. I must go."

The officer turned away, and I paid him the courtesy due from one
man to another. It shall always be a satisfying memory that I raised
my hat to him and that he saluted me.

"What is that officer's name?" I asked, and the man on the ground
seemed astonished that I did not know.

"Risaldar-major Ranjoor Singh bahadur!" he said.

For a second I was possessed by the notion of running after him,
until I recalled that he had known my purpose from the first and
that therefore his purpose must have been deliberate. Obviously, I
would better pursue the opportunity that in his own way He had given
me.

"What is your name?" I asked the man on the ground.

"Hira Singh," he answered, and at that I sat down beside him. For I
had also heard of Hira Singh.

He made quite a fuss at first because, he said, the dusty earth
beneath a tree was no place for a sahib. But suddenly he jumped to
the conclusion I must be American, and ceased at once to be troubled
about my dignity. On the other hand, he grew perceptibly less
distant. Not more friendly, perhaps, but less guarded.

"You have talked with Sikhs in California?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Then you have heard lies, sahib. I know the burden of their song. A
bad Sikh and a bad Englishman alike resemble rock torn loose. The
greater the height from which they fall, the deeper they dive into
the mud. Which is the true Sikh, he who marched with us or he who
abuses us? Yet I am told that in America men believe what hired
Sikhs write for the German papers.

"No man hired me, sahib, although one or two have tried. When I came
of age I sought acceptance in the army, and was chosen among many.
When my feet are healed I shall return to duty. I am a true Sikh. If
the sahib cares to listen, I will tell him truth that has not be