His subaltern had watched this very spectacular bit of bahadri from the parallel spur; but he only discovered that the central figure of it was his orderly when Mir Dast in his stretcher remarked, "Nur Baz has done well, Sahib, hasn't he?" Afterwards Nur Baz appeared "with a jaw like a bulldog, grinning all over, and the three rifles slung to his shoulder," and received the congratulations of his Sahib. "Sahib," he said, "will you honour me by taking one of these? Choose the one you like best." The subaltern selected the muzzle-loader, but Nur Baz demurred. "I must first see the Colonel Sahib," he said, "if you choose that one." "And why?" "It is loaded, and it is not permitted to fire off a round in the camp without the Colonel Sahib's permission." Just then the Colonel arrived, and Nur Baz, having obtained permission, raised the rifle jauntily to his shoulder and with evident satisfaction loosed the bullet which ought to have cracked his brain pan into the empty air. Nur Baz and Mir Dast, though differing much in style, both had a great deal of the original Pathan in them. One more story of an Afridi. It was in France. There had been an unsuccessful attack on the German lines. A sergeant of the Black Watch was lying dead in no-man's land, and the Hun sniper who had accounted for him lay somewhere in his near neighbourhood; he had lain there for hours taking toll of all who exposed themselves. It was getting dark when an officer of the 57th Rifles saw a Pathan, Sher Khan, pushing his way along the trench towards the spot. The man was wasting no time; he was evidently on some errand, only he carried no rifle. The officer called after him: "Hello, Sher Khan, where are you off to?" "I am going to get the sniper, Sahib, who shot the sergeant." "But why haven't you got a rifle?" "I am not going to dirty mine, Sahib. I'll take the sergeant's."