In the meantime Sulloo had been brought in, and we found the most effective solution in the way of soothing his pain was cyona and water. The poor fellow was most plucky over it, and implored to be merely left where he was to die. His only thought was that somebody owed him twenty rupees, and he wanted this money to go to his brother, and not to the woman he had married the day before he had set out from Leh! And there was no one else he cared about. We had certainly fallen into a most distressing fix. We could not help wishing that it might be so willed that the unfortunate man should die quietly that same morning. We could then have buried him, and marched away from the sad calamity to fresh scenes. As one of our men, Shukr Ali, philosophically remarked, it would only be his "kismet." Should, on the other hand, the man live, for all that, it was not in our power to remain where we were, for in that case the small store of rations would have soon been eaten up, and when they were gone there was nothing to follow, as far as we could see, but starvation. "We must shove on and find people" had been our daily axiom for some time, and to halt more than was absolutely necessary for the strength of the mules would be entirely fatal. Yet it was our duty, it we possibly could, to keep the man alive, and we knew it, too. We were in a most unpleasant situation; whichever course we adopted was equally hateful to us.
After seriously considering the pros and cons, we decided to remain where we were, Camp 40, for the day, and on the morrow to strap the man to a pony, with a muleteer walking on either side to support him. The idea of carrying him on a stretcher certainly entered our heads, but its execution was an impossibility.
It was indeed a very gloomy day, most of the time being spent in trying to get enough water from the holes we had dug. The unhappy Sulloo was fed through a small opening, by holding back his head and pouring down brandy and water or mutton broth.
One sad event seldom comes without a second. As we had no meat with us, and it was imperative that Sulloo should have something in the shape of beef-tea, for solid food could never be his fare again, we had to slay our dear old sheep and make the soup from his bones and what flesh there was. We wondered all the time what possible good we could be doing the man. He would never be able to eat again, nor even speak, or, as Shukr Ali put it, "What's the use of troubling about him? _Admi kabhi nahin banjaega!_ He'll never make a man any more."