"Did the man get off, sahib?"
"I can't say for certain," Lisle said, with a smile. "Four men attacked us. They all four fired. I shot three of them with my revolver, and the fourth bolted. Whether he was the man who really shot your comrade, or not, I cannot say; but you see, the chances are that he was not."
The grim faces of the Sikhs lit up with a smile.
"You paid them out, anyhow," the sergeant said. "I don't think we are very deeply in their debt."
Lisle went back to the campfire. The best that could be found in camp was given to him, and the colonel handed him his own whisky flask. While he ate, he related the story in full.
"Well, it is a fine thing for you to have done," said the colonel; "a most creditable affair. I know that you are a pretty good marcher; but I hardly think that, after a long day's work, you can set out for a march of nearly double the length."
"I have no fear of the march, Colonel. The Sikhs have volunteered to carry a stretcher for me. I shall, of course, not get into it, unless I feel that I cannot go another foot farther; but the mere fact that it is there, and in readiness for me, will help me to keep on. The Sikhs have done just as long a march as I have, and I hope that I shall be able to hold on as long as they can. I should hate to be beaten by a native."
"Ah! But these Sikhs are wonderful fellows; they seem to be made of iron, and march along as erect and freely as they start, when even the Hausas and Yorubas are showing signs that they are almost at the end of their powers. I must say that I consider the Sikhs to be, all round, the best soldiers in the world. They cannot beat Tommy Atkins, when it comes to a charge; but in the matter of marching, and endurance, Tommy has to take a back seat. He will hold on till he fairly breaks down, rather than give in; but he himself, if he has ever campaigned with the Sikhs, would be the first to allow that they can march him off his feet.
"Have you got a spare pair of shoes in your kit, Bullen?"
"Yes."