Two honest Sikhs, he swore, would die well to such an end.
"Drop thy fire and I will fan the flame!" he vowed, and she believed
him.
"I will send my cobras down to keep the sahib company!" she mocked.
But Ranjoor Singh proposed to take one danger at a time, and he was
quite sure that she wanted him alive, not dead, for otherwise he
would have been dead already. He held his tongue and listened while
she splashed the water.
"Thy trooper is very thirsty, sahib!"
She was on a warmer scent now, for that squadron of his and the men
of his squadron were the one love of his warrior life. Some spirit of
malice whispered her as much.
"The trooper shall have water when Ranjoor Singh sahib has promised
on his Sikh honor."
"Promised what?" His voice betrayed interest at last; it suggested
future possibilities instead of a grim present.
"That he will do what is required of him!"
"Is that the price of a drink for Jagut Singh?"
"Aye! Will the sahib pay, or will he let the trooper parch?"
"Ask Jagut Singh! Go, ask him! Let it be as he answers!"
He could hear her hurry away, although she slammed the trap-door
shut. Evidently she was not satisfied to speak through the little
hole, and he suspected that she was showing the man water, perhaps
giving some to the Afridi for sweet suggestion's sake.
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