Utterly not one! And we Sikhs are farmers, not easily deceived on such matters; we knew that to be grazing land we crossed.

It was a land of fruit, too, in the proper season.

There had been cattle by the thousand, but they were all gone--plundered by the Turks to feed their armies.
Ranjoor Singh did his best to make us husband our stale loaves, but we ate the last of them and became like famished wolves.

Some of us grew footsore, for we had German boots, to which our feet were not yet thoroughly accustomed, but he gave us no more rest than he needed for his own refreshment--and that was wonderfully little.

We had to nurse and bandage our feet as best we could, and march--march--march! He had a definite plan, for he led unhesitatingly, but he would not tell us the plan.