"Haven't given it a thought, sir! Too busy thinking about Ranjoor Singh. Worried about him." "Shouldn't worry!" said the general. "Ranjoor Singh's all right." "That's the first assurance I've had of it, except by way of a mysterious note," said Kirby. "By all right, I mean that he isn't in disgrace. But now about your horses and private effects. You've done nothing about them?" "I'll have time to attend to that this afternoon, sir." "Oh, no, you won't. That's why I'm glad you came! These"--he gave him a sealed envelope--"are supplementary orders, to be opened when you get back to barracks. I want you out of the way by noon if possible. We'll send a man down this morning to take charge of whatever any of you want kept, and you'd better tell him to sell the rest and pay the money to your bankers; he'll be a responsible officer. That's all. Good-by, Kirby, and good luck!" The general held out his hand. "One more minute, sir," said Kirby. "About Ranjoor Singh!" "What about him?" "Well, sir--what about him?" "What have you heard?" "That--I've heard a sort of promise that he'll be with his squadron, to lead it, before the blood runs." "Won't that be time enough?" asked the general, smiling. He was looking at Kirby very closely. "Not sick, are you?" he asked. "No? I thought your scalp looked rather redder than usual." Kirby flushed to the top of his collar instantly, and the general pretended to arrange a sheaf of papers on the table. "One reason why you're being sent first, my boy," said the general, holding out his hand again, "is that you and your regiment are fittest to be sent. But I've taken into consideration, too, that I don't want you or your adjutant killed by a cobra in any event. And--_snf--snf_--the salt sea air gets rid of the smell of musk quicker than anything. Good-by, Kirby, my boy, and God bless you!" "Good-by, sir!" Kirby stammered the words, and almost ran down the steps to his waiting dog-cart. As all good men do, when undeserved ridicule or blame falls to their lot, he wondered what in the world he could have done wrong. He had no blame for anybody, only a fierce resentment of injustice--an almost savage sense of shame that any one should know about the adventure of the night before, and a rising sense of joy in his soldier's heart because he had orders in his pocket to be up and doing. So, and only so, could he forget it all. He whipped up his horse and went down the general's drive at a pace that made the British sentry at the gate grin from ear to ear with whole-souled approval. He did not see a fat babu approach the general's bungalow from the direction of the bazaar. The babu salaamed profoundly, but Kirby's eyes were fixed on the road ahead, and his thoughts were already deep in the future. He saw nothing except the road, until he took the last corner into barracks on one wheel, and drew up a minute later in front of the bachelor quarters that had sheltered him for the past four years.