Yet Ranjoor Singh grew anxious, too, for the Khans grew bolder.

It began to look as if neither Germans nor we would ever reach half-way to the Afghan border.

Ranjoor Singh was the finest leader men could have, but we were being sniped eternally, men falling wounded here and there until scarcely one of us but had a hurt of some kind--to say nothing of our sick.

Men grew sick from bad food, and unaccustomed food, and hard riding and exposure.

Our little Greek doctor took sick and died, and we had nothing but ignorance left with which to treat our ailments.