Then Sikandar Khan
said, "If it be the fate of the wounded to die in the fire, _I_ shall not
prevent it." And he passed to the back of the house and presently came
back, and four wounded Boer-log came after him, of whom two could not walk
upright. And I said, "What hast thou done?" And he said, "I have neither
spoken to them nor laid hand on them. They follow in hope of mercy." And I
said, "It is a Sahibs' war. Let them wait the Sahibs' mercy." So they lay
still, the four men and the idiot, and the fat woman under the thorn-tree,
and the house burned furiously. Then began the known sound of cartouches
in the roof--one or two at first; then a trill, and last of all one loud
noise and the thatch blew here and there, and the captives would have
crawled aside on account of the heat that was withering the thorn-trees,
and on account of wood and bricks flying at random. But I said, "Abide!
Abide! Ye be Sahibs, and this is a Sahibs' war, O Sahibs. There is no
order that ye should depart from this war." They did not understand my
words. Yet they abode and they lived.
Presently rode down five troopers of Kurban Sahib's command, and one I
knew spoke my tongue, having sailed to Calcutta often with horses. So I
told him all my tale, using bazaar-talk, such as his kidney of Sahib would
understand; and at the end I said, "An order has reached us here from the
dead that this is a Sahibs' war.
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