Then he slapped me on the back, and after that sat with his arm around me while the entertainment lasted.

When we left the tent he swore roundly at a newcomer to the front for not saluting me, who am not entitled to salute.

That is the way of the British.

But I was speaking of Ranjoor Singh.

Forgive me, sahib.
The horse his trooper-servant rode was blown and nearly useless, so that the trooper died that night for lack of a pair of heels, leaving us none to question as to Ranjoor Singh's late doings.