Then he admitted
her.
She ran in past him, ran past him again when he opened the second
door, and laughed at Ranjoor Singh. She seemed jubilant and very
little interested in the bombs that the German was at pains to
explain to her. She had to tell of five regiments on the way.
"The first will be here in two or three hours" she asserted; "your
men, Ranjoor Singh--your Jat Sikhs that are ever first to mutiny!"
She squealed delight as the Sikh's face flushed at the insult.
"What is the cocked pistol for?" she asked the German.
He told her, but she did not seem frightened in the least. She began
to sing, and her voice echoed strangely through the vault until she
herself seemed to grow hypnotized by it, and she began to sway,
pushing her basket away from her behind a bale near where the German
sat.
"I will dance for you!" she said suddenly.
She arose and produced a little wind instrument from among her
clothing--a little bell-mouthed wooden thing, with a voice like Scots
bagpipes.
"Out of the way, Ranjoor Singh!" she ordered. "Sit yonder. I will
dance between you, so that the German sahib may watch both of us at
once!"
So Ranjoor Singh went back twenty feet away, wondering at her mood
and wondering even more what trick she meant to play. He had reached
the conclusion, very reluctantly, that presently the German would
fire that pistol of his and end the careers of all three of them; so
he was thinking of the squadron on its way to France.
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