He pointed to a man lying across one of the girders sustaining the platform. Only his head could be seen. Bob knelt down and stooped over, asking the Sikh to lower the lamp. He saw a bearded, turbaned man in uniform, with arms and legs twined about the girder. "He is unconscious," he said. "Lift him up and bring him into the compound." The Sikhs had some difficulty in raising the man, who, in spite of his unconsciousness, clung tenaciously to the beam. But they got him up at last, and carried him across the bridge and up to the house. Bob waited to see the bridge lowered again, then hurried back. "Cold water, khansaman," he said as he entered. The man brought a mug of water, which he set down on the table. Bob wondered why he did not himself hold it to the stranger’s lips, until he guessed that caste was probably the obstacle. He himself gave the man drink, and looked at him with curiosity, which became recognition as he opened his eyes. It was Ganda Singh, the dafadar of the sowars who had accompanied Major Endicott on his mission months before. "Salaam, sahib," said the man faintly, when he saw that Bob had recognized him. "Feel better now?" said Bob. Ganda Singh had closed his eyes again. Bob noticed that he was very pale and haggard, as one exhausted after a long march. "Just get one of the Sikhs to prepare him some food, khansaman," he said. "I suppose you won’t do it yourself?" "He is a Sikh, sahib." "Well, cut away to one of his own race, then. He’s fit for nothing at present." He considered whether he should wake Lawrence, but decided to let him sleep on until the man was able to explain his presence. He himself was absolutely unconscious of any feeling of fatigue. Ganda Singh’s surprising appearance filled him with overmastering excitement. Reviving after some hot lentil soup had been poured between his lips, the dafadar raised himself slightly from the couch on which he had been laid. Bob noticed a twinge of pain as he moved his arm. "Wounded?" he said. "A shot in the shoulder, sahib--very little." "As you came down the track?" "No, sahib; before." He fumbled in his belt, and produced a small piece of paper, folded. This he handed to Bob, who opened it, and read, scrawled on a leaf torn from a pocket-book, the following lines-- "_Get back to India at once. Whole country ablaze.--H. Endicott._" "Where is Endicott Sahib?" he asked quickly. "In the hills towards the Afghan country, sahib." "Near where we left him? He has not been there all this time?" "No, sahib; Endicott Sahib went back to Rawal Pindi, and came again." "And he is well?" "In body, sahib, wherein I rejoice; but very sick in mind." "Tell me all about it; slowly, don’t distress yourself. Here, let me strip off your coat, gently, and see what’s wrong. Wait a little, though; I must fetch Lawrence Sahib."