By and by, with heels sucking in the mud, we came to the road of which Ranjoor Singh had spoken and I turned along it.  It had been worn into ruts and holes by heavy traffic and now the rain made matters worse, so we made slow progress.  But before long I was able to make out dimly through the storm what looked like a railway station.  There was a line of telegraph poles, and where it crossed our road there were buildings enough to have contained two regiments.  I could see no sign of men, but in that light, with rain swirling hither and thither, it was difficult to judge.  I halted, and sent a man back to warn Ranjoor Singh.

We blew on our fingers and stamped to keep life in ourselves, until at the end of ten minutes he came striding out of the rain like a king on his way to be crowned.  My twenty were already speechless with unhappiness and hunger, but he had instilled some of his own spirit into the rest of the regiment, for they marched with a swing in good order.  He had Tugendheim close beside him and had inspired him, too.  It may be the man was grinning in hope of our capture within an hour, and in that case he was doomed to disappointment.  He was destined also to see the day when he should hope for our escape.  But from subsequent acquaintance with him I think he was appreciating the risk we ran and Ranjoor Singh’s great daring.  I say this for Tugendheim, that he knew and respected resolution when he saw it.

When I had pointed out what I could see of the lay of the land, Ranjoor Singh left me in charge and marched away with Tugendheim and Tugendheim’s four guards.  I looked about for shelter, but there was none.  We stood shivering, the rain making pools at our feet that spread and became one.  So I made the men mark time and abused them roundly for being slack about it, they grumbling greatly because our prisoner was marched away to shelter, whereas we must stand without.  I bullied them as much as I dared, and we stamped the road into a veritable quagmire, as builders tread mud for making sun-dried bricks, so that when three-quarters of an hour had passed and a man came running back with a message from Ranjoor Singh there was a little warmth in us.  I did not need to use force to get the column started.

“Come!” said the trooper.  “There is food, and shelter, and who knows what else!”

So we went best foot first along the road, feeling less than half as hungry and not weak at all, now that we knew food was almost within reach.  Truly a man’s desires are the vainest part of him.  Less hungry we were at once, less weary, and vastly less afraid; yet, too much in a hurry to ask questions of the messenger!

Ranjoor Singh came out of a building to meet us, holding up his hand, so I made the men halt and began to look about.  It was certainly a railway station, with a long platform, and part of the platform was covered by a roof.  Parallel to that was a great shed with closed sides, and through its half-open door I could smell hay--a very good smell, sahib, warming to the heart.  To our right, across what might be called a yard—­thus—­were many low sheds, and in one there were horses feeding; in others I could see Turkish soldiers sprawling on the straw, but they took no notice of us.  Three of the low sheds were empty, and Ranjoor Singh pointed to them.