Then Jenkins, struck with the admiration of one brave man for another, sounded the cease fire; and in the dead stillness that followed the Colonel’s orderly shouted down to the horseman to ask him who he was, and why he thus courted death.  “Oh, brother,” shouted the orderly, “who art thou and whence comest and whither goest?” “I am Bahaud-din Khan,” replied the horseman, “and I come from Ali Musjid, which the Feringhis have taken, and I follow those sons of pigs, the Kasilbash Horse, who you saw pass in such a hurry just now.”

“The Sahib says,” shouted the orderly, “that surely you must be mad thus to walk your horse through a heavy fire like that.”

“Not mad, tell the Sahib,” replied the Afghan, “but fearing no man; and I shook my sword at you, and your hundreds of rifles, to show that I cared not that much for you.”

“By Jove, he’s a brave fellow!” said Jenkins; “tell him to come up and have a talk with me.”

“By all means,” was the cheery reply; and dismounting quietly, the man tied his horse to a bush, slipped his sword into its scabbard, and strolled up the hill.

“Well, now tell me all about yourself,” was Jenkins’s greeting.

“There is nothing much to tell.  I live in Kabul and belong to the Kasilbash Horse, and my father was a soldier before me.  But he was a brave fellow like myself; we are no mis-begotten apes, like those sons of perdition who fled just now.  They are all cowards and runaways, and no fit company for a warrior.”

Jenkins liked the look of the man, and his courage was beyond doubt, so he said cordially:  “You’re a fine fellow and I like you.  Will you take on with the Guides?”

“Yes, I will,” said the free-lance without a moment’s hesitation.

So there and then, on the field of battle, Bahaud-din Khan, late of the Kasilbash Horse, joined the Guides, and was made a non-commissioned officer on the spot.  For two long years, through the many ups and downs of the campaign, through much severe fighting and many a hardship, he did good and valiant service.  It was only when the war was over, and the corps was nearing India on its downward march, that Bahaud-din Khan began to lose his reckless devil-may-care bearing; he seemed sad, and dispirited, and out of sorts altogether.

“Why, what ails you, my man?” said Jenkins one day as he chanced across him on the march.

“Nothing, Sahib; I am very happy in the service of the Queen, and I feel it an honour to serve in the Guides.”

“Well, then, why look so doleful?  One would think you had lost your best horse, or broken the sword of your ancestors on the head of a buffalo,” laughed Jenkins.

“The truth cannot be hidden from you, Sahib, so I will tell it,” ingenuously replied Bahaud-din Khan.  “My comrades tell me that down at Mardan they have to do riding-school and drill, and all that sort of thing.  Well, I don’t think, Sahib, that is quite in my line.  Give me as much fighting as you like, but I’m too old a soldier to go bumping round a riding-school.  Therefore, with your Honour’s kind permission I think I will take my leave, and return to Yaghistan, the land of never-ending conflict.”