 CHAPTER VII Under whose use the pregnant suns are poised with idiot moons and stars retracting stars. Creep thou between thy comings all unnoised. Heaven hath her highs as earth her baser-wars. Hear to these tumults this affright that fray by Adam's father's own sin bound away. Peer up, draw out thy horoscope, and say which planet men's thy threadbare fate o' Mars. Sir John Christie. In the afternoon the red-faced schoolmaster told Kim that he had been struck off the strength, which conveyed no meaning to him till he was ordered to go away and play. Then he ran to the bazaar and found the young letter-writer to whom he owed a stamp. Now I pay, said Kim royally, and now I need another letter to be written. Mabub Ali is in Umballa, said the writer, jauntedly. He was, by virtue of his office, a bureau of general misinformation. This is not to Mabub, but to a priest. Take thy pen and write quickly. To Teshu Lama, the holy one, from Botiyal, seeking for a river, who is now in the temple of the Tirthankars, at Benares. Take more ink. In three days I am to go down to Naklao, to the school at Naklao. The name of the school is Xavier. I do not know where that school is, but it is at Naklao. But I know—the writer interrupted—I know the school. Tell him where it is, and I will give half an anna. The read pen scratched busily. He cannot mistake. The man lifted his head. Who watches us across the street? Kim looked up hurriedly and saw Colonel Crichton in tennis flannels. Oh! that is some Sahib who knows the fat priest in the barracks. He is beckoning me. Not thus thou, said the Colonel, when Kim trotted up. I am not running away. I send a letter to my holy one at Benares. I had not thought of that. Has thou said that I take thee to Lucknell? Nay, I have not. Read the letter, if there be a doubt. Then why has thou left out my name in writing to that holy one? The Colonel smiled a queer smile. Kim took his courage in both hands. It was said once to me that it is inexpedient to write the names of strangers concerned in any matter, because by the naming of names many good plans are bought to confusion. Thou hast been well taught! the Colonel replied, and Kim flushed. I have left my shrewt case in the Padres veranda. Bring it to my house this evening. Where is the house? said Kim. His quick wit told him that he was being tested in some fashion or another, and he stood on guard. Ask any one in the big bazaar! the Colonel walked on. He has forgotten his shrewt case, said Kim, returning. I must bring it to him this evening. That is all my letter, except thrice over, come to me, come to me, come to me. Now I will pay thee for a stamp, and put it in the post. He rose to go, and as enough the thought he asked, Who is that angry-faced Sahib who lost the shrewt case? Oh, he is only Crichton Sahib, a very foolish Sahib, who is Colonel Sahib without a regiment. What is his business? God knows. He is always buying horses which he cannot ride, and asking riddles about the works of God, such as plants, and stones, and the customs of the people. The dealers call him the Father of Fools, because he is so easily cheated about a horse. Mahbub Ali says he is merrier than most other Sahibs. Oh! said Kim, and departed. His training had given him some small knowledge of character, and he argued that fools are not given information which leads to calling out eight thousand men besides guns. The Commander in Chief of all India does not talk, as Kim had heard him talk, to fools. Nor would Mahbub Ali's tone have changed as it did every time he mentioned the Colonel's name, if the Colonel had been a fool. Consequently, and this set Kim to skipping, there was a mystery somewhere, and Mahbub Ali probably spied for the Colonel as much as Kim had spied for Mahbub. And like the horse-dealer, the Colonel evidently respected people who did not show themselves to be too clever. He rejoiced that he had not betrayed his knowledge of the Colonel's house, and when on his return to the barracks he discovered that no shrewt case had been left behind he beamed with delight. Here was a man after his own heart, a torturous and indirect person playing a hidden game. Well, if he could be a fool, so could Kim. He showed nothing of his mind when Father Victor, for three long mornings, discourse to him on an entirely new set of gods and godlings. Notably of a goddess called Mary, who he gathered, was one with Bibi Miriam of Mahbub Ali's theology. He betrayed no emotion when, after the lecture, Father Victor dragged him from shop to shop buying articles of outfit, nor when envious drummer boys kicked him because he was going to a superior school did he complain, but awaited the play of circumstances with an interested soul. Father Victor, good man, took him to the station, put him into an empty second class next to Colonel Crichton's first, and bared him farewell with genuine feeling. They'll make a man of your o'hara at St. Xavier's, a white man, and I hope a good man. They know all about your coming, and the Colonel will see that you're not lost or mislaid anywhere on the road. I've given you a notion of religious matters, at least I hope so, and you'll remember, when they ask you your religion, that you're a Catholic. Better say Roman Catholic, though I'm not fond of the word. Kim lit a rank cigarette. He had been careful to buy a stock in the bazaar, and lay down to think. This solitary passage was very different from that joyful down-journey in the third class with the lama. Saib's get little pleasure of travel, he reflected. Hi, my! I go from one place to another, as if it might be a kick-ball. It is my kismet. No man can escape his kismet. I am to pray to BB Miriam, and I am a Saib. He looked at his boots ruefully. No, I am Kim. This is the great world, and I am only Kim. Who is Kim? He considered his own identity, a thing he had never done before, till his head swam. He was one insignificant person in all this roaring whirl of India, going southward to, he knew not what fate. Presently, the Colonel sent for him, and talked for a long time. So far as Kim could gather, he was to be diligent and enter the survey of India as a chain man. If he were good and passed the proper examinations, he would be earning thirty rupees a month at seventeen years old, and Colonel Crichton would see that he found suitable employment. Kim pretended at first to understand perhaps one word in three of this talk, then the Colonel, seeing his mistake, turned to fluent and picturesque Urdu, and Kim was contented. No man could be a fool who knew the language so intimately, who moved so gently and silently, and whose eyes were so different from the dull, fat eyes of other Sahibs. Yes, and thou must learn how to make pictures of roads and mountains and rivers, to carry these pictures in thine eye, till a suitable time comes to set them down upon paper. Perhaps some day, when thou art a chain man, I may say to thee, when we are working together, go across those hills and see what lies beyond. Then one will say, there are bad people living in those hills who will slay the chain man if he be seen to look like a Sahib. What then? Kim thought, would it be safe to return the Colonel's lead? I would tell them what that other man had said. But what if I answered, I will give thee a hundred rupees for knowledge of what is behind those hills, for a picture of a river, and a little news of what the people say in those villages there? How can I tell? I am only a boy. Wait till I am a man." Then seeing the Colonel's brow clouded he went on, but I think I should in a few days earn the hundred rupees. By what road? Kim shook his head resolutely. If I said how I would earn them, another man might hear and forestall me. It is not good to sell knowledge for nothing. Tell now! the Colonel held up a rupee. Kim's hand half reached towards it, and dropped. Nay, Sahib, nay! I know the price that will be paid for the answer, but I do not know why the question is asked. Take it as a gift, then, said Crichton, tossing it over. There is a good spirit in thee. Do not let it be blunted at St. Xavier's. There are many boys there who despise the black man. Their mothers were bizarre women, said Kim. He knew well there is no hatred like that of the half-caste for his brother-in-law. True, but thou art a Sahib, and the son of a Sahib. Therefore do not at any time be led to condemn the black men. I have known boys newly entered into the service of the government, who feigned not to understand the talk or the customs of black men. Their pay was cut for ignorance. There is no sin so great as ignorance. Remember this. Several times in the course of the long twenty-four hours run south did the Colonel send for Kim, always developing this latter text. We'd be all on one lead rope, then, said Kim at last. The Colonel, Mahbub Ali and I, when I become a chain man, he will use me as Mahbub Ali employed me, I think. That is good, if it allows me to return to the road again. This clothing grows no easier by wear. When they came to the crowded Lucknow station there was no sign of the lama. He swallowed his disappointment, while the Colonel bundled him into a tikka gari with his neat belongings and dispatched him alone to St. Xavier's. I do not say farewell, because we shall meet again, he cried, again and many times if thou art one of good spirit, but thou art not yet tried. Not when I brought thee, Kim actually dared to use the tum of equals. A white stallion's pedigree that night? Much is gained by forgetting, little brother, said the Colonel, with a look that pierced through Kim's shoulder-blades as he scuttled into the carriage. It took him nearly five minutes to recover, then he sniffed the new air appreciatively. A rich city, he said, richer than Lahore! How good the bazaars must be! Coachman, drive me a little through the bazaars here. My order is to take thee to the school. The driver used the thou, which is rudeness when applied to a white man. In the clearest and most fluent vernacular, Kim pointed out his error. Climbed onto the box seat, and perfect understanding established, drove for a couple of hours up and down, estimating, comparing, and enjoying. There is no city except Bombay, the Queen of All, more beautiful in her garish style than Lucknow, whether you see her from the bridge over the river, or from the top of the Imbara, looking down on the gilt umbrellas of the Chutter Munsil, and the trees in which the town is bedded. Kings have adorned her with fantastic buildings, endowed her with charities, crammed her with pensioners, and drenched her with blood. She is the centre of all idleness, intrigue, and luxury, and shares with Delhi the claim to talk the only pure Urdu. A fair city, a beautiful city! The driver, as a Lucknow man, was pleased with the compliment, and told Kim many astounding things where an English guide would have talked of the mutiny. Now we will go to the school, said Kim at last. The great old school of Saint Xavier's in Partybus, block on block of low white buildings, stands in vast grounds over against the Gumty River, at some distance from the city. What like of folks are they within, said Kim? Young Sahibs, old devils, but to speak truth, I drive many of them to and fro from the railway station, I have never seen one that had in him the makings of a more perfect devil than thou, this young Sahib whom I am now driving. Naturally, for he was never trained to consider them in any improper way, Kim had passed the time of day with one or two frivolous ladies at upper windows in a certain street, and naturally in the exchange of compliments had acquitted himself well. He was about to acknowledge the driver's last insolence, when his eye, it was growing dusk, caught a figure in the long sweep of wall. Stop! he cried, stay here, I do not go to the school at once. But what is to pay me for this coming and re-coming? said the driver, petulantly. Is the boy mad? Last time it was a dancing-girl, this time it is a priest. Kim was in the road headlong, patting the dusty feet beneath the yellow robe. I have waited here a day and a half. The lama's level voice began, nay, I had a disciple with me. He that was my friend in the temple of the Tirthankars gave me a guide for this journey. I came from Benares in the terrain, when thy letter was given to me. Yet I am well fed, I need nothing. But why disthou not stay with the Kulu woman, O holy one? In what way disthou get to Benares? My heart has been heavy since we parted. The woman wearied me by constant flux of talk, and requiring charms for children. I separated myself from that company, permitting her to acquire merits by gifts. She is at least a woman of open hands, and I made a promise to return to her house if need arose. Then perceiving myself alone in this great and terrible world, I bethought me of the terrain to Benares, where I knew one abode in the Tirthankars temple, who was a seeker, even as I. Ah, thy river, said Kim. I had forgotten the river. So soon, my chailer, I have never forgotten it. But when I had left thee it seemed better that I should go to the temple and take counsel. For look you, India is very large, and it may be that wise men before us. Some two or three have left a record of the place of our river. There is debate in the temple of the Tirthankars on this matter. Some saying one thing, and some another. They are courteous folk. So be it. But what dost thou do now? I acquire merit, in that I help thee, my chailer, to wisdom. The priest of that body of men, who served the red bull, wrote me that all should be as I desired for thee. I sent the money to suffice for one year, and then I came, as thou cease me, to watch for thee, going up into the gates of learning. A day and a half have I waited, not because I was led by any affection towards thee that is no part of the way. But, as they said at the Tirthankars temple, because money having been played for learning, it was right that I should oversee the end of the matter. They resolved my doubts most clearly. I had a fear that perhaps I came because I wished to see thee, misguided by the red mist of affection, but it is not so. Moreover, I am troubled by a dream. But surely, holy one, thou hast not forgotten the road, and all that befell on it. Surely it was a little to see me that thou discome. The horses are cold, and it is past their feeding time, we need the driver. Go to Jehanim, and abide there with thy reputationless aunt, Kim snarled over his shoulder. I am all alone in this land. I know not where I go, nor what shall befall me. My heart was in that letter I sent thee. Except for Mahbub Ali, and he is a Pathan, I have no friend save thee, holy one. Do not all together go away. I have considered that also, the lama replied in a shaking voice, it is manifest that from time to time I shall acquire merit. If before that I have not found my river, by assuring myself that thy feet are set on wisdom, what they will teach thee I do not know. But the priest wrote me, that no son of a Saib in all India will be better taught than thou. So from time to time therefore I will come again. May be thou wilt be such a Saib as he who gave me those spectacles. The lama wiped them elaborately in the wonder-house at Lahore. That is my hope, for he was a fountain of wisdom wiser than many abbots. Again, may be thou wilt forget me and our meetings. If I eat thy bread, cried Kim passionately, how shall I ever forget thee? No, no, he put the boy aside. I must go back to Banaras. From time to time, now that I know the customs of letter-writers in this land, I will send thee our letter, and from time to time I will come and see thee. But wither shall I send my letters, wailed Kim, clutching at the robe all forgetful that he was a Saib, to the temple of the Tirthankars at Banaras. That is the place I have chosen till I find my river. Do not weep, for look you all desire is illusion, and a new binding upon the wheel. Go up to the gates of learning. Let me see thee go. Dost thou love me? Then go, o my heart cracks. I will come again, surely I will come again. The lama watched the tigagari rumble into the compound, and strode off snuffing between each long stride. The gates of learning shut with a clang. The country-born and bread-boy has his own manners and customs which do not resemble those of any other land, and his teachers approach him by roads which an English master would not understand. Therefore you would scarcely be interested in Kim's experiences as a saint, Xavier's boy, among two or three hundred precocious youths, most of whom had never seen the sea. He suffered the usual penalties for breaking out of bounds when there was cholera in the city. This was before he had learned to write fair English, and so was obliged to find a bizarre letter-writer. He was of course indicted for smoking and for the use of abuse more full-flavoured than even Saint Xavier's had ever heard. He learned to wash himself with the levitical scrupulosity of the native-born, who in his heart considers the Englishman rather dirty. He played the usual tricks on the patient-coolies, pulling the punkers in the sleeping-rooms when the boys threshed through the hot nights, telling tales till the dawn, and quietly he measured himself against his self-reliant mates. They were the sons of subordinate officials in the railway, telegraph and canal services, of warrant-officers, sometimes retired, and sometimes acting as commanders-in-chief, to a feudatory Rajah's army, of captains of the Indian Marine, government pensioners, planters, presidencies, shopkeepers and missionaries. A few were cadets of the old Eurasian houses that have taken strong root in Durum-Tola, Perrierus, De Souza's, and De Silva's. Their parents could well have educated them in England, but they loved the school that has served their own youth, and generation-followed, sallow-hued generation at St Xavier's. Their homes ranged from howder of the railway-people to abandoned contendments like Mongia and Chuna, lost tea-gardens, Shilongwe, villages where their fathers were large land-holders in Uda or the Deccan, mission-stations a week from the nearest railway-line, seaports a thousand miles south facing the brazen Indian surf, and Chikonna plantations south of all. The mere story of their adventures, which to them were no adventures, on the road to and from school, would have crisped a western boy's hair. They were used to jogging off alone through a hundred miles of jungle, where there was always the delightful chance of being delayed by tigers. But they could no more have bathed in the English Channel in an English August than their brothers across the world would have lain still, while a leopard snuffed at their palanquin. There were boys of fifteen who had spent a day and a half on an islet in the middle of a flooded river, taking charge, as by right, of a camp of frantic pilgrims returning from a shrine. There were seniors who had requisitioned a chance-met Raja's elephant in the name of Saint Francis' saviour, when the rains once blotted out the cart-track that led to their father's estate, and who had all but lost the huge beast in a quicksand. There was a boy who, he said, and, undoubted, had helped his father to beat off with rifles from the veranda a rush of akkas in the days when those headhunters were bold against lonely plantations. And every tale was told in the even, passionless voice of the native-born, mixed with quaint reflections, borrowed unconsciously from native foster-mothers, and turns of speech that showed that they had that instant translated from the vernacular. Kim watched, listened, and approved. This was not in sippid, single-word talk of drummer-boys. It dealt with a life he knew, and in part understood. The atmosphere suited him, and he throwed by inches. They gave him a white-drill suit as the weather warmed, and he rejoiced in the newfound bodily comforts, as he rejoiced to use his sharpened mind over the tasks they set him. His quickness would have delighted an English master, but at Saint Xavier's they know the first rush of minds developed by sun and surroundings as they know the half-collapse that sets in at twenty-two or twenty-three. Nonetheless, he remembered to hold himself lowly. When tales were told of hot nights, Kim did not sweep the board with his reminiscences, for Saint Xavier's looks down upon boys who go native altogether. One must never forget that one is a saib, and that some day, when examinations are passed, one will command natives. Kim made a note of this, for he began to understand where examinations led. Then came the holidays from August to October, the long holidays imposed by the heat and the rains. Kim was informed that he would go north to some station in the hills behind Domballa, where Father Victor would arrange for him. A barrack-school? said Kim, who had asked many questions and thought more. Yes, I suppose so, said the Master. It will not do you any harm to keep you out of mischief. You can go up with young Decastro as far as Delhi. Kim considered it in every possible light. He had been diligent, even as the Colonel advised. A boy's holiday was his own property, of so much the talk of his companions had advised him, and a barrack-school would be torment after Saint Xavier's. Moreover, this was magic worth anything else, he could write. In three months he had discovered how men can speak to each other without a third party at the cost of half an anna and a little knowledge. No word had come from the lama, but there remained the road. Kim yearned for the caresses of soft mud squishing up between the toes as his mouth watered for mutton stewed with butter and cabbages. For rice speckled with strong-scented cardamoms, for the saffron-tinted rice, garlic and onions, and the forbidden greasy sweet-mits of the bazaars. They would feed him raw beef on a platter in the barrack-school, and he must smoke by stealth. But again he was a saib, and was at Saint Xavier's, and that pig, Mahbub Ali, no, he would not test Mahbub's hospitality, and yet he thought it out alone in the dormitory, and came to the conclusion that he had been unjust to Mahbub. The school was empty, nearly all the masters had gone away. Colonel Crichton's were away past, lay in his hand, and Kim puffed himself that he had not spent Colonel Crichton's or Mahbub's money on riotous living. He was still lord of two rupees, seven annas. His new bullock-trunk marked K-O-H, and bedding-roll lay in the empty sleeping-room. Saibs are always tied to their baggage, said Kim, nodding at them. You will stay here." He went out into the warm rain, smiling sinfully, and sought a certain house whose outside he had noted down some time before. Arey! Does thou know what manner of women we be in this quarter? Oh, shame! Was I born yesterday? Kim squatted native fashion on the cushions of that upper room. A little dye stuff and three yards of cloth to help out a jest. Is that too much to ask? Who is she? Thou art full young, as Saibs go for this devil-tree. Oh, she? She is the daughter of a certain school-master of a regiment in the cantonments. He has beaten me twice because I went over their wall in these clothes. Now I would go as a gardener's boy. Old men are very jealous. It is true. Hold thy face still while I dab on the juice. Not too black, Nikann. I would not appear to her as a hoop she. Oh, love makes naught of these things. And how old is she? Twelve years, I think," said the shameless Kim. Spread it also on the breast. It may be her father will tear my clothes off me, and if I am pie-balled," he laughed. The girl worked busily, dabbing a twist of cloth into a little saucer of brown dye that holds longer than any walnut juice. Now send out and get me a cloth for the turban. Woe is me! My head is all unshaved, and he will surely knock off my turban. I am not a barber, but I will make shift. Thou was born to be a breaker of hearts. All this disguise for one evening. Remember, the stuff does not wash away. She shook with laughter till her bracelets and anklets jingled. But who is to pay me for this? Hanifa herself could not have given thee better stuff. Trust in the gods, my sister," said Kim gravely, screwing his face round as the stain dried. Besides, has thou ever helped to paint a saib thus before? Never indeed, but jest is not money. It is worth much more. Child, thou art beyond all dispute the most shameless son of Sheytan that I have ever known to take up a poor girl's time with this play, and then to say, Is not the jest enough? Thou wilt go very far in this world!" She gave him the dancing girl's salutation in mockery. All one! Make haste, and rough-cut my head. Kim shifted from foot to foot, his eyes ablaze with mirth, as he thought of the fat days before him. He gave the girl four anners, and ran down the stairs in the likeness of a low-caste Hindu boy. Perfect in every detail. A cook-shop was his next point of call, where he feasted in extravagance and greasy luxury. On Lucknow station platform he watched young D'Castro, all covered with prickly heat, get into a second-class compartment. Kim patronised a third, and was the life and soul of it. He explained to the company that he was assistant to a juggler who had left him behind sick with fever, and that he would pick up his master Atamballa. As the occupants of the carriage changed, he varied this tale, or adorned it with all the shoots of a budding fancy, the more rampant for being held off native speech so long. In all India that night was no human being so joyful as Kim. Atamballa he got out, and headed eastward, plashing over the soddened fields to the village where the old soldier lived. About this time Colonel Crichton, at similar, was advised from Lucknow by wire that young O'Hara had disappeared. Mabubali was in town selling horses, and to him the Colonel confided the affair one morning, cantering round Annandale race-course. "'Oh, that is nothing,' said the horse-dealer. "'Man, I like horses. At certain times they need salt, and if that salt is not in the manger's they will lick it up from the earth. He has gone back to the road again for a while. The madrisha wearied him, I knew it would. "'Another time I will take him upon the road myself. Do not be troubled,' Crichton sighed. "'It is though a polopony breaking loose ran out to learn the game alone.' "'Then he is not dead, think you?' "'Fever might kill him. I do not fear for the boy otherwise. Our monkey does not fall among trees.' Next morning on the same course Mabubali ranged beside the Colonel. "'It is as I had thought,' said the horse-dealer. "'He has come through Umbala at least, and there has written a letter to me, having learned in the bazaar that I was here.' "'Read,' said the Colonel, with a sigh of relief. "'It was absurd that a man of his position should take an interest in a little country-bread vagabond. But the Colonel remembered the conversation in the train, and often in the past few months had caught himself thinking of the queer, silent, self-possessed boy. His evasion, of course, was the height of insolence, but it argued some resource and nerve. Mabubali's eyes twinkled as he rained out into the centre of the cramped little plain, where none could come near unseen. "'The friend of the stars who is friend of all the world.' "'What is this?' A name we gave him in Lahore City. "'The friend of all the world takes leave to go his own places. He will come back upon the appointed day. "'The box and the bedding-roll be sent for. "'And if there has been a fault, let the hand of friendship turn aside the whip of calamity. "'There is yet a little more, but—' "'No matter. Read!' "'Certain things are not known to those who eat with forks. "'It is better to eat with both hands for a while. "'Speak soft words to those who do not understand this, "'that the return may be propitious. "'Now, the manner in which that was cast "'is, of course, the work of the letter-writer. "'But see how wisely the boy has devised the matter of it "'so that no hint is given except to those who know.' "'Is this the hand of friendship "'to avert the whip of calamity?' laughed the Colonel. "'See how wise is the boy. "'He would go back to the road again, as I said, "'not knowing yet thy trade. "'I'm not at all sure of that,' the Colonel muttered. "'He turns to me to make peace between you. "'Is he not wise? "'He says he will return. "'He is but perfecting his knowledge. "'Think, Saib, he has been three months at the school, "'and he is not mouthed to that bit.' "'For my part, I rejoice, the pony learns the game.' "'I, but another time, he must not go alone.' "'Why?' he went alone before he came under "'the Colonel Saib's protection. "'When he comes to the great game, he must go alone, "'alone, and at the peril of his head. "'Then if he spits or sneezes or sits down "'other than as the people do, whom he watches, "'he may be slain. "'Why hinder him now? "'Remember how the Persians say, "'the jackal that lives in the wilds of Mazandaran "'can only be caught by the hounds of Mazandaran.' "'True, it is true, Mawawali, "'and if he comes to know harm, "'I do not desire anything better, "'but it is great insolence on his part. "'He does not tell me even whether he goes,' said Mahbub. "'He is no fool. "'When his time is accomplished, he will come to me. "'It is time the Healer of Pearls took him in hand. "'He ripens too quickly, as Saibs reckon.' This prophecy was fulfilled to the letter a month later. Mahbub had gone down to Umballa to bring up a fresh consignment of horses, and met him on the Kalka Road, a dusk, riding alone, begging an arms of him, was sworn at, and replied in English. There was nobody within earshot to hear Mahbub's gasp of amazement. "'Oh, and where house thou been?' "'Up and down, down and up.' "'Come under a tree out of the wet and tell.' "'I stayed for a while with an old man near Umballa, "'a non with the household of my acquaintance in Umballa. "'With one of these I went as far as Delhi to the southward. "'That is a wondrous city. "'Then I drove a bullock for a telly, an oilman, coming north, "'but I heard of a great feast forward in Paziala, "'and there came I in the company of a firework-maker. "'It was a great feast!' Kim rubbed his stomach. "'I saw rages and elephants with gold and silver trappings, "'and they lit all the fireworks at once, "'whereby eleven men were killed, my firework-maker among them, "'and I was blown across a tent, but took no harm. "'Then I came back to the rail with a Sikh horseman, "'to whom I was groomed for my bread, and so here.' "'Sure, bosh,' said Mahbub Ali. "'What does the Colonel Sahib say? I do not wish to be beaten.' "'The hand of friendship has averted the whip of calamity. "'But another time, when thou takest the road, it will be with me. "'This is too early.' "'Late enough for me. "'I have learned to write English a little at the Madrisha. "'I shall soon be altogether a Sahib.' "'Here him!' laughed Mahbub, "'looking at the little drenched figure dancing in the wet. "'Salaam, Sahib!' and he saluted ironically. "'Well, are tired of the road, "'or wilt thou come on to Umballa with me "'and work back with the horses?' "'I will come with thee, Mahbub Ali.' End of CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII Something I owe to the soil that grew, "'more to life that fed, "'but most to Allah, "'who gave me the two separate sides to my head. "'I would go without shirts or shoes, "'friends, tobacco, or bread, "'sooner than for an instant lose either side of my head.' "'The two-sided man.' "'Then in God's name take blue for red,' said Mahbub, "'alluding to the Hindu colour of Kim's disreputable turban. "'Kim, countered with the old proverb, "'I will change my faith and my bedding, "'but thou must pay for it.' The dealer laughed till he nearly fell from his horse. "'At a shop on the outskirts of the city "'the change was made, "'and Kim stood up externally at least a Mohammedan. Mahbub hired a room over against the railway station, "'sent for a cooked meal of the finest "'with almond curd sweet-meats, Balashai, we call it, "'and fine-chopped Lucknow tobacco. "'This is better than some other meat "'that I ate with the Sikh,' said Kim, grinning as he squatted, "'and assuredly they give no such victuals at my Magrisha.' "'I have a desire to hear of that same Magrisha.' Mahbub stuffed himself with great boluses of spiced mutton, fried in fat with cabbage and golden-brown onions. "'But tell me first altogether and truthfully "'the manner of thy escape. "'For, oh friend of all the world,' he loosed his cracking-belt. "'I do not think it is often that a Saib "'and the son of a Saib runs away from there.' "'How should they? They do not know the land. "'It was nothing,' said Kim, and began his tale. "'When he came to the Disguisement "'and the interview with the girl in the bazaar, "'Mahbub Ali's gravity went from him, "'he laughed aloud, and beat his hand on his thigh.' "'Shabash! Shabash! "'Oh, well done, little one! "'What will the Healer of Turquoise's say to this? "'Now, slowly, let us hear what befell afterwards. "'Step by step, omitting nothing.' "'Step by step, then, Kim told his adventures "'between coughs, as the full-flavoured tobacco "'caught his lungs.' "'I said,' growled Mahbub Ali to himself, "'I said it was the pony breaking out to play polo. "'The fruit is ripe already. "'Except that he must learn his distances and his pacings "'and his rods and his compasses. "'Listen now, I have turned aside the Colonel's whip "'from thy skin, and that is no small service.' "'True,' Kim puffed serenely, "'that is all true. "'But it is not to be thought "'that this running out and in is in any way good.' "'It was my holiday, Haji. "'I was a slave for many weeks. "'Why should I not run away when the school was shut? "'Look, too, how I, living upon my friends "'or working for my bread, as I did with the Sikh, "'have saved the Colonel Sa'ib a great expense.' Boob's lips twitched under his well-pruned Mohammedan moustache. "'What are a few rupees?' The Pathan threw out his open hand carelessly. "'To the Colonel Sa'ib, he spends them for a purpose, "'not in any way for love of thee.' "'That,' said Kim slowly, "'I knew a very long time ago.' "'Who told?' "'The Colonel Sa'ib himself. "'Not in those many words, "'but plainly enough for one who is not altogether a mud-head. "'Yay, he told me in the terrain when we went down to Lucknow.' "'Be it so. "'Then I will tell thee more, friend of all the world, "'though in the telling I lend thee my head.' "'It was forfeit to me,' said Kim, with deep relish, "'in Umballa, when thou dis-pick me up on the horse "'after the drummer-boy beat me.' "'Speak a little plainer. "'All the world may tell lies save thou and I. "'For equally is thy life forfeit to me "'if I choose to raise my finger here.' "'And this is known to me also,' said Kim, "'readjusting the live charcoal-ball on the weed. "'It is a very sure tie between us. "'Indeed, thy hold is sureer even than mine, "'for who would miss a boy beaten to death "'or may be thrown into a well by the roadside? "'Many people here and in similar and across the passes "'behind the hills would, on the other hand, say, "'What has come to Mabubali if he were found dead "'among his horses? "'Surely, too, the Colonel Saib would make inquiries, "'but again,' Kim's face puckered with cunning, "'he would not make over long inquiry "'less people should ask, "'what has this Colonel Saib to do with that horse-dealer? "'But I, if I lived,' as thou would surely die, "'may be, but I say, if I lived, "'I and I alone would know that one had come by night "'as a common thief, perhaps, to Mabubali's bulkhead in the Sarai, "'and there had slain him, either before or after that thief "'had made a full search into his saddlebags "'and between the soles of his slippers. "'Is that news to tell the Colonel, or would he say to me? "'I have not forgotten when he sent me back for a cigar-case "'that he had not left behind him. "'What is Mabubali to me?' "'Up went a great gout of heavy smoke. "'There was a long pause. "'Then Mabubali spoke in admiration. "'And with these things on thy mind, "'dust thou lie down and rise up again "'among all the Saib's little sons at the Madrisha "'and meekly take instruction from thy teachers.' "'It is an order,' said Kim blandly. "'Who am I to dispute an order?' "'A most finished son of Eblis,' said Mabubali. "'And what is this tale of the thief and the search?' "'That which I saw,' said Kim, "'the night that my lama and I lay next thy place "'in the Kashmir Sarai. "'The door was left unlocked, "'which I think is not thy custom, Mabub. "'He came in as one assured that thou wast not soon return. "'My eye was against a knot-hole in the plank. "'He searched, as it were, for something, "'not a rag, not stirrups, not a bridle, "'no brass pots, something little, and most carefully hid. "'Else why did he prick with an iron "'between the soles of thy slippers?' "'Ah!' Mabubali smiled gently. "'And seeing these things, "'what tale dost thou fashion to thyself? "'Well of the truth?' "'None. I put my hand upon my amulet, "'which lies always next to my skin, "'and remembering the pedigree of a white stallion "'that I had bitten out of a piece of muscle-money bread, "'I went away to Ambala, "'and believing that a heavy trust was laid upon me, "'at that hour had I chosen, thy head was forfeit. "'Inneeded only to say to that man, "'I have here a paper concerning a horse which I cannot read. "'And then?' Kim peered at Mabub under his eyebrows. "'Then thou wist have drunk water twice, "'perhaps thrice afterwards? "'I do not think more than thrice,' said Mabub simply. "'It is true. I thought of that a little. "'But most I thought that I loved thee, Mabub. "'Therefore I went to Ambala as thou knowest, "'but, and this thou dost not know, "'I lay hid in the garden-grass "'to see what Colonel Crichton Saib might do "'upon reading the white stallion's pedigree.' "'And what did he?' "'For Kim had bitten off the conversation. "'Does thou give news for love, or dost thou sell it?' Kim asked. "'I sell, and I buy.' Mabub took a fore-and-a-piece out of his belt and held it up. "'Eight,' said Kim, mechanically following the huckster instinct of the East. Mabub laughed and put away the coin. "'It is too easy to deal in that market, friend of all the world. "'Tell me for love. Our lives lie in each other's hand.' "'Very good. "'I saw the Jungilat Saib,' the commander-in-chief, "'come to a big dinner. "'I saw him in Crichton Saib's office. "'I saw the two read the white stallion's pedigree. "'I heard the very orders given for the opening of a great war.' "'Ah!' Mabub nodded with deepest eyes afire. "'The game is well played. "'That war is done now, and the evil, we hope, nipped before the flower, "'thanks to me and thee. "'What dist thou later?' "'I made the news, as it were a hook, "'to catch me victual and honour among the village "'whose priest drugged my lama. "'But I bore away the old man's purse, and the Brahmin found nothing. "'So next morning he was angry. Ho-ho! "'And I also used the news when I fell into the hands "'of that white regiment with their bull.' "'That was foolishness,' Mabub scowled. "'News is not meant to be thrown about like dung-cakes, "'but used sparingly, like bong.' "'So I think now, and moreover, it did me no sort of good. "'But that was very long ago. "'He made to brush it all away with a thin, brown hand. "'And since then, and especially in the nights under the punca, "'at the madricia, I have thought very greatly.' "'Is it permitted to ask whether the heaven-born's thought "'might have led?' said Mabub, "'in labyrinth sarcasm smoothing his scarlet beard.' "'It is permitted,' said Kim, and threw back the very tone. "'They say at knucklow that no Sa'ib must tell a black man "'that he has made a fault.' "'Mabub's hand shot into his bosom, "'for to call a pathana black man, color-ud-me, "'is a blood insult. "'Then he remembered, and laughed, "'Sa'ib, thy black man hears.' "'But,' said Kim, "'I am not the Sa'ib, "'and I say I made a fault to curse thee, Mabub Ali, "'on that day at Umballa, when I thought I was betrayed by a pathan. "'I was senseless, for I was but newly caught, "'and I wished to kill that low-caste drummer-boy. "'I say now, Haji, that it was well done, "'I see my road all clearly before me to a good service. "'I will stay in the Madrisha till I am ripe.' "'Well,' said, "'especially our distances and numbers "'and the manner of using compasses to be learned in that game, "'one waits in the hills above to show thee.' "'I will learn their teaching upon a condition "'that my time is given to me without question "'and the Madrisha is shut. "'Ask that for me of the Colonel.' "'But why not ask the Colonel in the Sa'ib's tongue?' "'The Colonel is the servant of the Government. "'He is sent hither and yon at a word "'and must consider his own advancement. "'See how much I have already learned at Nuklao. "'Moreover, the Colonel I know sits three months only. "'I have known one Mabub Ali for six years. "'So to the Madrisha I will go. "'At the Madrisha I will learn. "'In the Madrisha I will be a Sa'ib. "'But when the Madrisha is shut, "'then must I be free "'and go among my people, otherwise I die.' "'And who are thy people, friend of all the world?' "'This great and beautiful land,' said Kim, "'waving his paw round the little clay-blacked room "'where the oil-lamp in its niche burned heavily "'through the tobacco-smoke. "'And further I would see my lama again, "'and further I need money.' "'That is the need of every one,' said Mabub Rufoli. "'I will give thee eight annas, "'for much money is not picked out of horse's hooves, "'and it must suffice for many days. "'The rest I am well pleased and no further talk is needed. "'Make haste to learn, "'and in three years, or it may be less, "'thou would be an aide, even to me.' "'Have I been such a hindrance till now?' said Kim, with a boy's giggle. "'Do not give answers,' Mabub grunted. "'Thou art my new horse-boy, "'go and bet among my men. "'They are near the north end of the station with the horses. "'They will beat me to the south end of the station "'if I come without authority.' Mabub felt in his belt, whetted his thumb on a cake of Chinese ink, and dabbed the impression on a piece of soft native paper. "'From Balka to Bombay, men know that rough-ridged print, "'with the old scar running diagonally across it. "'That is enough to show my headman. "'I come in the morning.' "'By which road?' said Kim. "'By the road from the city. "'There is but one, and then we return to Crichton Saib. "'I have saved the abeating.' "'Allah! What is a beating "'when the very head is loose on the shoulders?' Kim slid out quietly into the night, moved half round the house, keeping close to the walls, and headed away from the station for a mile or so. Then, fetching a wide compass, he worked back at leisure, for he needed time to invent a story if any of Mabub's retainers asked questions. They were camped on a piece of waste-ground beside the railway, and, being natives, had not, of course, unloaded the two trucks in which Mabub's animals stood a mark assignment of country-breads bought by the Bombay Tram Company. The headman, a broken-down, consumptive-looking Mohammedan, promptly challenged Kim, but was pacified at the site of Mabub's sign-manual. "'The hajj has of his favour given me service,' said Kim, testily. "'If this be doubted, wait till he comes in the morning. In the meantime, a place by the fire.' Followed the usual aimless babble that every low-caste native must raise on every occasion, it died down, and Kim lay out behind the little knot of Mabub's followers, almost under the wheels of a horse-truck, a borrowed blanket for covering. Now a bed among brick-bats and ballast refuse on a damp night between overcrowded horses and unwashed balties do not appeal to many white boys, but Kim was utterly happy. Change of scene, service, and surroundings were the breath of his little nostrils, and thinking of the neat white cots of St. Xavier's all a row under the punker, gave him joy as keen as the repetition of the multiplication table in English. "'I am very old,' he thought sleepily. Every month I become a year more old. I was very young and a fool to boot when I took Mabub's message to Umballa. Even when I was with that white regiment, I was very young and small and had no wisdom. But now I learn every day, and in three years the colonel will take me out of the Magyrisha and let me go upon the road, with Mabub hunting for horses' pedigrees, or maybe I shall go by myself. Or maybe I shall find the lama and go with him. Yes, that is best, to walk again as a chayla with my lama when he comes back to Benares.' The thoughts came more slowly and disconnectedly. He was plunging into a beautiful dream-land when his ears caught a whisper, thin and sharp, above the monotonous babble round the fire. It came from behind the iron-skinned horse-truck. Is he not here, then? Where should he be but roistering in the city? Who looks for a rat in a frog pond? Come away, he is not our man. He must not go back beyond the passes a second time. It is the order. Hire some woman to drug him. It is a few rupees only, and there is no evidence. Except the woman. It must be more certain, and remember the price upon his head. But the police have a long arm, and we are far from the border. If it were in Peshawar now. Yes, in Peshawar. The second voice sneered. Peshawar, full of his blood-kin, full of bolt-holes and women behind whose clothes he will hide. Yes, Peshawar or Jehanim would suit us equally well. Then what is the plan? Oh, fool, have I not told it a hundred times. Wait till he comes to lie down. Then one sure shot. The trucks are between us in pursuit. We have but to roll back over the lines and go our way. They will not see whence the shot came. Wait here at least until the dawn. What manner of fakir art thou to shiver at a little watching? Aha! thought Kim behind close shut eyes. Once again it is Mahbub. Indeed a white stallion's pedigree is not a good thing to peddle to Sahibs. Or maybe Mahbub has been selling other news. Now what is to do, Kim? I know not where Mahbub houses, and if he comes here before the dawn they will shoot him. That would be no profit for thee, Kim. And this is not a matter for the police. That would be no profit for Mahbub. And, he giggled almost aloud, I do not remember any lesson at Naklao which will help me. Allah! Here is Kim and Yonder are they. First, then, Kim must wake and go away. So they shall not suspect. A bad dream wakes a man, thus. He threw the blanket off his face and raised himself suddenly with the terrible bubbling meaningless yell of the Asiatic roused by a knifemare. Orororo! Yalalalala! Narain! The churro! The churro! A churro is the particularly malignant ghost of a woman who has died in child-bed. She haunts lonely roads. Her feet are turned backwards on the ankles and she leads men to torment. Louder rose Kim's quavering howl till at last he leaped to his feet and staggered off sleepily while the camp cursed him for waking them. Some twenty yards farther up the line he laid down again and cared that the whisperers should hear his grunts and groans as he recomposed himself. After a few minutes he rolled towards the road and stole away into the thick darkness. He paddled along swiftly till he came to a culvert and dropped behind it his chin on a level with the coping-stone. Here he could command all the night traffic himself unseen. Two or three carts passed jingling out to the suburbs a coughing policeman and a hurrying foot-passenger or two who sang to keep off evil spirits. Then wrapped the shod-feet of a horse. Ah! This is more like Mabub! thought Kim as the beast shied at the little head above the culvert. Oh, hey! Mabub Ali! he whispered. Have a care! The horse was rained back almost on its haunches and forced toward the culvert. Never again, said Mabub, will I take a shod-horse for night-work. They pick up all the bones and nails in the city. He stooped to lift its forefoot that brought his head within a foot of Kim's. Down! Keep down! he muttered. The night is full of eyes. Two men wait thy coming behind the horse-trucks. They will shoot thee at thy lying down, because there is a price on thy head I heard, sleeping near the horses. Dis thou see them? Hold still, sire of devils! This furiously to the horse. No. Was one dress be like as a fakir? One said to the other, What manner of fakir are thou to shiver at a little watching? Good! Go back to the camp and lie down. I do not die to-night. Mabub wheeled his horse and vanished. Kim tore back down the ditch till he reached the point opposite his second resting-place, slipped across the road like a weasel, and recoiled himself in the blanket. At least Mabub knows, he thought contentedly, and certainly he spoke as one expecting it. I do not think those two men will profit by to-night's watch. An hour passed, and with the best will in the world to keep awake all night, he slept deeply. Now and again a night-train roared along the meadows within twenty feet of him, but he had all the Oriental's indifference to mere noise, and it did not even weave a dream through his slumber. Mabub was anything but asleep. It annoyed him vehemently that people outside his tribe but unaffected by his casual amours should pursue him for the life. His first and natural impulse was to cross the line lower down, work up again, and, catching his well-wishers from behind, summarily slay them. Here he reflected with sorrow another branch of the government, totally unconnected with Colonel Crichton, might demand explanations which would be hard to supply, and he knew that south of the border a perfectly ridiculous fuss was made about a corpse or so. He had not been troubled in this way since he sent Kim to Umballa with the message and hoped that suspicion had been finally diverted. Then a most brilliant notion struck him. The English do eternally tell the truth. He said, Therefore we of this country are eternally made foolish. By Allah I will tell the truth to an Englishman. Of what use is the government police if a pork-a-boolly be robbed of his horses in their very trucks? This is as bad as Peshawar. I should lay a complaint at the station. After still some young Sa'ib on the railway. They are zealous and if they catch thieves it is remembered to their honour. He tied up his horse outside the station and strode onto the platform. Hello, Mabub Ali, said a young assistant district traffic superintendent who was waiting to go down the line. A tall, tow-haired, horsey youth in dingy white linen. What are you doing here? Selling weeds, eh? No. I am not troubled for my horses. I come to look for Lutaf-Ula. I have a truck load up the line. Could anyone take them out without the railway's knowledge? Shouldn't think so, Mabub. You could claim against us if they do. I have seen two men crouching under the wheels of one of the trucks nearly all the night. The Kiers do not steal horses, so I gave them no more thought. I would find Lutaf-Ula, my partner. The deuce you did. And you didn't bother your head about it. Upon my word it's just almost as well that I met you. What were they like, eh? They were only for Kiers. They will no more than take a little grain, perhaps from one of the trucks. There are many up the line. The State will never miss the doll. I came here seeking for my partner, Lutaf-Ula. Never mind your partner. Where are your horse-trucks? A little to this side of the farthest place where they make lamps for the trains. The signal-box? Yes. And upon the rail, nearest to the road, upon the right-hand side, looking up at the line thus. But as regards Lutaf-Ula, a tall man with a broken nose and a Persian greyhound. Aye! The boy had hurried off to wake up a young and enthusiastic policeman, for, as he said, the railway had suffered much from depredations in the goods-yard. Mahbub Ali chuckled in his dyed beard. They will walk in their boots making a noise, and then they will wonder why there are no for Kiers. They are very clever boys, Barton Saib and Young Saib. He waited idly for a few minutes, expecting to see them hurry up the line, girt for action. A light engine slid through the station, and he caught a glimpse of young Barton in the cab. I did that child in injustice. He is not altogether a fool, said Mahbub Ali, to take a fire carriage for a thief. This is a new game. When Mahbub Ali came to his camp in the dawn, no one thought it worthwhile to tell him any news of the night. No one, at least, but a small horse-boy, newly advanced to the great man's service, whom Mahbub called to his tiny tent to assist in some packing. It is all known to me, whispered Kim, bending above saddle-bags, two Saibs came up on a terrain. I was running to and fro in the dark on this side of the tracks, as the terrain moved up and down slowly. They fell upon two men, sitting under this truck. Haji, what shall I do with this lump of tobacco? Wrap it in paper, and put it under the salt-bag? Yes, and struck them down. But one man struck at a Saib with a fakir's buck-horn. Kim meant the conjoined black buck-horns, which are a fakir's sole temporal weapon. The blood-cane. So the other Saib, first smiting his own man senseless, smoked the stabber with a short gun, which had rolled from the first man's hand. They all raged as though mad together. Mahbub smiled with heavenly resignation. No, that is not so much to oney. Madness, or a case for a civil court, the word can be palmed upon both ways. As nizamut, a criminal case. A gun, sayest thou, ten good years in jail. Then they both lay still, but I think they were nearly dead when they were put in the terrain. Their heads moved thus. And there is much blood on the line. Come and see. I have seen blood before. Jail is the shore-place, and assuredly they will give false names, and assuredly no man will find them for a long time. They were unfriends of mine. Thy fate and mine seem on one string. What a tale for the healer of pearls! Now, swiftly with the saddle-bags and the cooking-platter, we will take out the horses and away to Simla. Swiftly, as orientals understand speed, with long explanations with abuse and windy talk, carelessly amid a hundred checks for little things forgotten, the untidy camp broke up and led the half-dozen stiff and fretful horses along the Kalka Road in the fresh of the rain-swept dawn. Kim, regarded as Mahbub Ali's favourite by all who wished to stand well with the Pathan, was not called upon to work. They strolled on by the easiest of stages, halting every few hours at a wayside shelter. Very many Sahibs travel along the Kalka Road, and, as Mahbub Ali says, every young Sahib needs must esteem himself a judge of a horse, and though he be overhead in debt to the money-lender, must make as if to buy. That was the reason that Sahib after Sahib, rolling along in a stage carriage, would stop and open talk. Some would even descend from their vehicles and feel the horses' legs, asking inane questions or through sheer ignorance of the vernacular, grossly insulting the imperturbable trader. When first I dealt with Sahibs, and that was when Colonel Sodhi Sahib was Governor of Fort Abazi and flooded the commissioner's camping-ground for spite, Mahbub confided to Kim as the boy filled his pipe under a tree. I did not know how greatly they were fools, and this made me wroth. As thus, and he told Kim a tale of an expression misused in all innocence, that doubled Kim up with mirth. Now I see, however, he exhaled smoke slowly, that it is with them as with all men, in certain matters they are wise, in others most foolish. Very foolish it is to use the strong word to a stranger, for though the heart may be clean of offence, how is the stranger to know that? He is more like to search truth with a dagger. True, true talk, said Kim solemnly. Full speak of a cat when a woman is brought to bed, for instance, I have heard them. Therefore in one situate as thou art it particularly behooves thee to remember this with both kinds of faces. Among Sahibs never forgetting thou art a Sahib. Among the folk of Hind always remembering thou art. He paused with a puzzled smile. What am I? Musselman, Hindu, Jai, no Buddhist. That is a hard knot. Thou art beyond question and unbeliever, and therefore thou wilt be damned. So says my law, or I think it does. But thou art also my little friend of all the world, and I love thee. So says my heart. This matter of creeds is like horse-flesh. A wise man knows horses are good, that there is profit to be made from all, and for myself, but that I am a good Sunni and hate the men of Tirah, I could believe the same of all faiths. How manifestly a kathir warm mere taken from the sands of her birthplace and removed to the west of Bengal founders. Nor is even a Balka stallion, and there are no better horses than those of Balka, were they not so heavy in the shoulder, of any account in the great northern deserts beside the snow-camels I have seen. Therefore I say in my heart, the faiths are like the horses. Each has merit in its own country. But my lama said altogether a different thing. Ah, but he is an old dreamer of dreams from Botiyao. My heart is a little angry friend of all the world, that thou should see such worth in a man so little known. It is true, Haji, but that worth I do see, and to him my heart is drawn. And his to-dine I hear. Hearts are like horses, they come and they go against bit or spur. Shout Gulshakan Yanda to drive in that base stallion's picket more firmly. We do not want a horse-fight at every resting stage, and the dun and the black will be locked in a little. Now, hear me, is it necessary to the comfort of thy heart to see that lama? It is one part of my bond, said Kim. If I do not see him, and if he is taken from me, I will go out of that madrisha in Nakhlao, and, and once gone, who is to find me again? It is true, never was cold held on a lighter heel-rope than thou. Mahbub nodded his head. Do not be afraid. Kim spoke as though he could have him vanished on the moment. My lama has said that he will come to see me at the madrisha. A beggar and his bowl in the presence of those young saib? Not all, Kim cut in with a snort. Their eyes are blueed, and their nails are blackened with low-caste blood, many of them. Sons of Meteranis, brothers-in-law of the Bungie, sweeper. We need not follow the rest of the pedigree, but Kim made his little point clearly and without heat, chewing a piece of sugar-cane the while. Friend of all the world, said Mahbub, pushing over the pipe for the boy to clean. I have met many men, women and boys, and not a few saibs, but I have never in all my days met such an imp as thou art. And why, when I always tell thee the truth? Perhaps the very reason for this is a world of danger to honest men. Mahbub Ali hauled himself off the ground, gird in his belt, and went over to the horses. Or sell it? There was that in the tone that made Mahbub halt and turn. What new deviltry? Eight anas and I will tell thee, said Kim, grinning. It touches thy peace. O sheitan! Mahbub gave the money. Rememberest thou the little business of the thieves in the dark down yonder at Ambala? Seeing they sought my life, I have not altogether forgotten. Why? Rememberest thou the Kashmir Sarai? I will twist thy ears in a moment, saib. No need, Pathan. Only the second Fakir, whom the saibs beat senseless, was the man who came to search thy bulkhead at Lahore. I saw his face as they helped him on the engine, the very same man. Why dost thou not tell before? O he will go to jail and be safe for some years. There is no need to tell more than is necessary at one time. Besides, I did not then need money for sweetmeats. Allah kareem, said Mahbub Ali. Will thou someday sell my head for a few sweetmeats, if the fit takes thee? Kim will remember till he dies that long, lazy journey from Ambala, through Kalka, and the Pinjor Gardens, nearby, up to Simla. A sudden spate in the Guga River swept down one horse, the most valuable, be sure, and nearly drowned Kim among the dancing boulders. Farther up the road the horses were stampeded by a government elephant, and, being in a high condition of grass food, it cost a day and a half to get them together again. Then they met Sikandar Khan, coming down with a few unsalable screws, remnants of his string, and Mahbub, who has more of horse-coping in his little fingernail than Sikandar Khan in all his tents, must needs by two of the worst, and that meant eight hours laborious diplomacy and untold tobacco. But it was all pure delight, the wandering road climbing, sweeping and sweeping about the growing spurs. The flush of the morning laid upon the distant snows, the branched cacti tear upon tear on the stony hillsides, the voices of a thousand water-channels, the chatter of the monkeys, the solemn deodor's climbing one after another with down-dropped branches, the vista of the plains rolled out far beneath them, the incessant twanging of the tonga-horns, and the wild rush of the horses when a tonga swung round a curve. The halts for prayers. Mahbub was very religious in dry washings and bellowings when time did not press. The evening conferences by the halting places when camels and bullocks chewed solemnly together, and the stullied drivers told the news of the road. All these things lifted Kim's heart to song within him. But when the singing and dancing is done, said Mahbub Ali, comes the Colonel Syibs, and that is not so sweet. A fair land, a most beautiful land, is this of Hind, and the land of the five rivers is fairer than all. Kim half-chanted. Into it I will go again if Mahbub Ali or the Colonel lift hand or foot against me. Once gone, who shall find me? Look, Haji, is yonder the city of Simla? Allah, what a city! My father's brother, and he was an old man when Makkas and Syib well was new at Peshawar, could recall when there were but two houses in it. He led the horses below the main road into the lower Simla Bazaar. The crowded rabbit warren that climbs up from the valley to the town hall at an angle of forty-five. A man who knows his way there can defy all the police of India's summer capital. So cunningly does Varanda communicate with Varanda, alleyway with alleyway, and bolt-hole with bolt-hole. Here live those who minister to the wants of the glad city. Jampani's who pull the pretty ladies' rickshaws by night and gamble till the dawn. Grocers, oil-sellers, curio-vendors, firewood dealers, priests, pickpockets, and native employees of the government. Here are discussed by courtesans the things which are supposed to be the profoundest secrets of the India Council. And here gather all the sub-sub-agents of half the native states. Here too Mabub Ali rented a room much more securely locked than his bulkhead at Lahore in the house of a Mohammedan cattle-dealer. It was a place of miracles, too, for there went in at twilight a Mohammedan horse-boy, and there came out, an hour later, a Eurasian lad. The Lucknow girl's die was of the best in badly fitting shop-clothes. I have spoken with Crichton Saib, quote Mabub Ali, and a second time has the hand of friendship averted the whip of calamity. He says thou hast altogether wasted sixty days upon the road, and it is too late, therefore, to send thee to any hill-school. I have said that my holidays are my own. I do not go to school twice over. That is one part of my bond. The Colonel Saib is not yet aware of that contract. Thou art to lodge in Lurgun Saib's house till it is time to go again to Lucknow. I had sooner lodged with thee, Mabub. Thou dost not know the honour. Lurgun Saib himself asked for thee. Thou would go up to the hill and along the road atop, and there thou must forget for a while that thou hast ever seen or spoken to me, Ali, who sells horses to Crichton Saib, whom thou dost not know. Remember this order. Kim nodded. Good, good, said he. And who is Lurgun Saib? Nay. He caught Mabub's sword keen glance. Indeed, I have never heard his name. Is he by chance? He lowered his voice. One of us? What is this of us, Saib? Mabub returned in the tone he used toward Europeans? I am a Pathan. Thou art the Saib and the son of a Saib. Lurgun Saib has a shop among the European shops. All Simblon knows it. Ask there. And, friend of all the world, he is one to be obeyed to the last wink of his eyelashes. Men say he does magic, but that should not touch thee. Go up the hill and ask. Here begins the great game. End of CHAPTER IX. CHAPTER IX. Sedokes was the son of Yeleth the Wise, chief of the Raven Clan. Itzwut the Bear had him in care to make him a medicine-man. He was quick and quicker to learn, bold and bolder to dare. He danced the dread colloquially dance to tickle Itzwut the Bear. Oregon legend. Kim flung himself wholeheartedly upon the next turn of the wheel. He would be a Saib again for a while. In that idea, so soon as he had reached the broad road under Simbler Town Hall, he cast about for one to impress. A Hindu child, some ten years old, squatted under a lamppost. Where is Mr. Lurgun's house? demanded Kim. I do not understand English! was the answer, and Kim shifted his speech accordingly. I will show. Together they set off through the mysterious dusk, full of the noises of a city below the hillside, and the breath of a cool wind in Deodor crowned Jaco, shouldering the stars. The house-lights scattered on every level made, as it were, a double firmament. Some were fixed, others belonged to the rickshaws of the careless, open-spoken English folk going out to dinner. It is here," said Kim's guide, and halted in a veranda flush with the main road. No door stayed them, but a curtain of beaded reeds that split up the lamplight beyond. He has come," said the boy, in a voice little louder than a sigh, and vanished. Kim felt sure that the boy had been posted to guide him at last, but, putting a bold face on it, parted the curtain. A black-bearded man with a green shade over his eyes sat at a table, and, one by one, with short white hands, picked up globules of light from a tray before him, threaded them on a glancing silken string, and hummed to himself the while. Kim was conscious that beyond the circle of light the room was like all the temples of all the east. A whiff of musk, a puff of sandalwood, and a breath of sickly jesamine oil caught his open nostrils. I am here," said Kim at last, speaking in the vernacular. The smells made him forget that he was to be a saib. Seventy-nine, eighty, eighty-one. The man counted to himself stringing pearl after pearl that Kim could scarcely follow his fingers. He slid off the green shade and looked fixedly at Kim for a full half-minute. The pupils of the eye dilated and closed at a pimp-ricks, as if at will. There was a faquir in the Taksali gate who had just this gift and made money by it, especially when cursing silly women. Kim stared with interest. His disreputable friends could further twitch his ear, almost like a goat, and Kim was disappointed that this new man could not imitate him. "'Do not be afraid,' said Lurgan Saib suddenly. "'Why should I fear? Thou wilt sleep here to-night and stay with me till it is time to go again to Nakhlau. It is an order.' "'It is an order,' Kim repeated. "'But where shall I sleep?' "'Here, in this room.' Lurgan Saib waved his hand toward darkness behind him. "'So be it,' said Kim, composedly. "'Now?' He nodded and held the lamp above his head. As the lights swept them, they leapt out from the walls a collection of Tibetan devil-dance masks hanging above the fiend-embroider draperies of those ghastly functions, horned masks, scowling masks, and masks of idiotic terror. In a corner a Japanese warrior, mailed and plumed, menaced him with a halberd, and a score of lances and candours and katars gave back the unsteady gleam. But what interested Kim more than all these things he had seen devil-danced masks at the Lahore Museum was a glimpse of the soft-eyed Hindu child who had left him in the doorway sitting cross-legged under the table of pearls with a little smile on his scarlet lips. I think that Lurgan Saib wishes to make me afraid, and I am sure that that devil's brat below the table wishes to see me afraid. "'This place,' he said aloud, "'is like a wonder-house. Where is my bed?' Lurgan Saib pointed to a native quilt in a corner by the loathsome masks, picked up the lamp, and left the room black. "'Was that Lurgan Saib?' Kim asked as he cuddled down. No answer. He could hear the Hindu boy breathing, however, and guided by the sound crawled across the floor and cuffed into the darkness, crying, "'Give answer, devil! Is this the way to lie to a Saib?' From the darkness he fancied he could hear the echo of a chuckle. It could not be his soft-fleshed companion, because he was weeping. So Kim lifted up his voice and called aloud, "'Lurgan Saib! Oh, Lurgan Saib! Is it an order that they serve and does not speak to me?' "'It is an order.' The voice came from behind him, and he started. "'Very good, but remember,' he muttered as he resought the quilt, "'I will beat thee in the morning. I do not love Hindus.' That was no cheerful night. The room being over full of voices and music. Kim was waked twice by someone calling his name. The second time he set out in search and ended by bruising his nose against a box that certainly spoke with a human tongue, but in no sort of human accent. It seemed to end in a tin trumpet and to be joined by wires to a smaller box on the floor, so far at least as he could judge by touch. And the voice, very hard and whirring, came out of the trumpet. Kim rubbed his nose and grew furious, thinking, as usual in Hindi, "'This, with a beggar from the bazaar, might be good. "'But I am a Saib, and the son of a Saib, "'and, which is twice as much as more beside, "'a student of Nuklao.' "'Yes.' Here he turned to English. "'A boy of St. Xavier's.' "'Damn, Mr. Lurgan's eyes. "'It is some sort of machinery, like a sewing machine. "'Oh, it is a great cheek of him. "'We are not frightened that way down at Lucknow. "'No.' Then, in Hindi, "'But what does he gain? "'He is only a trader. I am in his shop. "'But Khriton Saib is a colonel, "'and I think Khriton Saib gave orders that it should be done. "'How I will beat that Hindu in the morning.' "'What is this?' The trumpet-box was pouring out a string of the most elaborate abuse that even Kim had ever heard in a high, uninterested voice, that, for a moment, lifted the short hairs of his neck. When the vile thing drew breath, Kim was reassured by the soft sewing machine-like whir. "'Choop! Be still!' he cried, and again he heard a chuckle that decided him, "'Choop! Or I break your head!' The box took no heed. Kim wrenched at the tin trumpet, and something lifted with a click. He had evidently raised a lid. If there were a devil inside, now was its time. For, he sniffed. Thus did the sewing machines of the bizarre smell. He would clean that she-tan. He slipped off his jacket, and plunged it into the box's mouth. Something long and round bent under the pressure. There was a whir, and the voice stopped, as voices must, if you ram a thrice-doubled coat onto the wax-cylinder and into the works of an expensive phonograph. Kim finished his slumbers with a serene mind. In the morning he was aware of Lurgan Saib looking down on him. "'Ah!' said Kim, firmly resolved to cling to his Saibdom. There was a box in the night that gave me bad talk, so I stopped it. Was it your box?' The man held out his hand. "'Shake hands, oh horror!' he said. "'Yes, it was my box. I keep such things, because my friends the Rajas like them. That one is broken. But it was cheap at the price. Yes, my friends the kings are very fond of toys, and so am I sometimes.' Kim looked him over out of the corners of his eyes. He was a Saib in that he wore Saib's clothes. The accent of his Urdu, the intonation of his English, showed that he was anything but the Saib. He seemed to understand what moved in Kim's mind ere the boy opened his mouth, and he took no pains to explain himself, as did Father Victor or the Lucknow Masters. Sweetest of all, he treated Kim as an equal on the Asiatic side. "'I'm sorry you cannot beat my boy this morning. He says he will kill you with a knife or poison. He is jealous, so I have put him in the corner, and I shall not speak to him today. He has just tried to kill me. You must help me with the breakfast. He is almost too jealous to trust just now.' Now a genuine imported Saib from England would have made a great to-do over this tale. Lugren Saib, stated it as simple as Mabub Ali was used to record his little affairs in the North. The back veranda of the shop was built out over the sheer hillside, and they looked down into their neighbour's chimney-pots, as is the custom of Simla. And even more than the purely Persian meal cooked by Lugren Saib with his own hands, the shop fascinated Kim. The Lahore Museum was larger, but here were more wonders. Ghost daggers and prayer-wheels from Tibet, turquoise and raw amber necklaces, green-jade bangles, curiously packed incense sticks in jars crusted over with raw garnets, the devil-mask so overnight, and a wall full of peacock-blue draperies, gilt figures of Buddha, and little portable lacquer altars, Russian samovars with turquoise on the lid, eggshell china sets in quaint octagonal cane boxes, yellow ivory crucifixes from Japan of all places in the world, so Lugren Saib said, carpets in dusty bales, smelling atrociously, pushed back behind torn and rotten screens of geometrical work. Persian water jugs for the hands-after meals, dull copper incense burners, neither Chinese nor Persian, with freezes of fantastic devils running around them, tarnished silver belts that knotted like rawhide, hairpins of jade, ivory and plasma, arms of all sorts and kinds, and a thousand other oddments were cased or piled or merely thrown into the room, leaving a clear space only round the rickety deal-table where Lugren Saib worked. These things are nothing, said his host following Kim's glance. I buy them because they are pretty, and sometimes I sell. If I like the buyers, look. My work is on the table, some of it. It blazed in the morning light, all red and blue and green flashes, picked out with the vicious blue-white spurt of a diamond here and there. Kim opened his eyes. Oh, they are quite well, those stones. It will not hurt them to take the sun. Besides, they are cheap. But with six stones it is very different. He piled Kim's plate anew. There is no one but me. Can doctor a sick pearl or re-blue turquoise's? I grant you opals. Any fool can cure an opal. But for a sick pearl there is only me. Suppose I were to die. Then there would be no one. Oh, no! You cannot do anything with jewels. It will be quite enough if you understand a little about the turquoise some day. He moved to the end of the veranda to refill the heavy porous clay water jug from the filter. Do you want a drink? Kim nodded. Lurgen Saib, fifteen feet off, laid one hand on the jar. The next instant it stood at Kim's elbow, falter within half an inch of the brim, the white cloth only showing by a small wrinkle where it had slid into place. Wa! said Kim in most utter amazement. That is magic! Lurgen Saib's smile showed that the compliment had gone home. Throw it back. It will break. I say, throw it back! Kim pitched it at random. It fell short and crashed into fifty pieces, while the water dripped through the rough veranda boarding. I said it would break! Oh, one! Look at it! Look at the largest piece! That lay with a sparkle of water in its curve as it were a star on the floor. Kim looked intently. Lurgen Saib laid one hand gently on the nape of his neck, stroked it twice or thrice, and whispered, Look! It shall come to life again, piece by piece. First the big piece will join itself to two others on the right and the left. On the right and the left. Look! To save his life Kim could not have turned his head. The light-touch held him as in a vice, and his blood tingled pleasantly through him. There was one large piece of the jar where there had been three, and above them the shadowy outline of the entire vessel. He could see the veranda through it, but it was thickening and darkening with each beat of his pulse. Yet the jar, how slowly the thoughts came, the jar had been smashed before his eyes. Another wave of pricking fire raced down his neck as Lurgen Saib moved his hand. Look! it is coming into shape, said Lurgen Saib. So far Kim had been thinking in Hindi, but a tremor came on him, and with an effort like that of a swimmer before sharks who holds himself half out of the water, his mind leapt up from a darkness that was swallowing it and took refuge in the multiplication table in English. Look! it is coming into shape, whispered Lurgen Saib. The jar had been smashed. Yes, smashed. Not the native word. He would not think of that, but smashed, into fifty pieces, and twice three was six, and thrice three was nine, and four times three was twelve. He clung desperately to the repetition. The shadow outline of the jar cleared like a mist after rubbing eyes. There were the broken shards. There was the spilt water drying in the sun, and through the cracks of the veranda showed all ribbed. The White House wall below, and thrice twelve was thirty-six. Look! is it coming into shape, asked Lurgen Saib. But it is smashed, smashed, he gasped. Lurgen Saib had been muttering softly for the last half minute. Kim wrenched his head aside. Look! Deco! it is there as it was there. It is there as it was there, said Lurgen, watching Kim closely while the boy rubbed his neck. But you are the first of many who has ever seen it so. He wiped his broad forehead. Was that more magic? Kim asked suspiciously. The tingle had gone from his veins. He felt unusually wide awake. No, that was not magic. It was only to see if there was a flaw in a jewel. Sometimes very fine jewels will fly all to pieces if a man holds them in his hand and knows the proper way. That is why one must be careful before one sets them. Tell me, did you see the shape of the pot? For a little time it began to grow like a flower from the ground. And then what did you do? I mean, how did you think? Oh! I knew it was broken. And so I think that was what I thought, and it was broken. Hmm! Has anyone ever done that same sort of magic to you before? If it was, said Kim, do you think I should let it again? I should run away. And now you are not afraid, eh? Not now. Lurgem Said looked at him more closely than ever. I shall ask Mahbub Ali, not now, but some days later. He mattered. I am pleased with you, yes. I am pleased with you. No. You are the first that ever saved himself. I wish I knew what it was that— But you are right. You should not tell that, not even to me. He turned into the dusky gloom of the shop, and sat down at the table, rubbing his hands softly. A small husky sob came from behind a pile of carpets. It was the Hindu child, obediently facing towards the wall. His thin shoulders worked with grief. Ah, he is jealous, so jealous. I wonder if he will try to poison me again in my breakfast, and make me cook it twice. Kubi! Kubi-9! Never, never, no, came the broken answer. And whether will he kill this other boy? Kubi! Kubi-9! What do you think he will do? He turned suddenly on Kim. Oh! I do not know. Let him go, perhaps. Why did he want to poison you? Because he is so fond of me. Suppose you were fond of someone, and you saw someone come, and the man you were fond of was more pleased with him than he was with you. What would you do? Kim thought. Then Logan repeated the sentence slowly in the vernacular. I should not poison that man, said Kim reflectively. But I should beat that boy if that boy was fond of my man. But first I would ask that boy if it were true. Ah, he thinks everyone must be fond of me. Then I think he is a fool. Thinks thou, said Logan Saib, to the shaking shoulders? The Saib's son thinks thou art a little fool. Come out, the next time thy heart is troubled. Do not try white arsenic quite so openly. Surely the devil Dasim was lord of our tablecloth that day. It might have made me ill-child. And then a stranger would have guarded the jewels. Come!" The old, heavy-eyed, with much weeping, crept out from behind the bale, and flung himself passionately at Logan Saib's feet with an extravagance of remorse that impressed even Kim. I will look into the ink-pools. I will faithfully guard the jewels. Oh, my father and my mother sent him away!" He indicated Kim with a backward jerk of his bare heel. Not yet, not yet. In a little while he will go away again. But now he is at school, at a new madrisha, and thou shalt be his teacher. Play the play of the jewels against him. I will keep tally. The child dried his tears at once, and dashed to the back of the shop, whence he returned with a copper tray. Give me," he said to Logan Saib, let them come from thy hand, for he may say that I knew them before. Gently, gently, the man replied, and from a drawer under the table dealt a half-handful of clattering trifles onto the tray. Now, said the child, waving an old newspaper, look on them as long as thou wilt, stranger. Count, and if need be handle. One look is enough for me," he turned his back proudly. But what is the game? When thou hast counted and handled, and art sure thou canst remember them all, I cover them with this paper, and thou must tell over the tally to Logan Saib. I will write mine. Oh, the instinct of competition waked in his breast. He bent over the tray. There were but fifteen stones on it. That is easy," he said after a minute. The child slipped the paper over the winking jewels, and scribbled in a native account-book. There are under that paper five blue stones, one big, one smaller, and three small," said Kim, all in haste. There are four green stones, and one with a hole in it. Then there is one yellow stone that I can see through, and one like a pipe-stem. There are two red stones, and I made the count fifteen, but two I have forgotten. No, give me time. One was of ivory, little and brownish, and give me time. One, two. Logan Saib counted him out up to ten. Kim shook his head. Here my count," the child burst in, trilling with laughter. First, two are flawed sapphires, one of two rutties, and one of four as I should judge. The four rutty sapphire is chipped at the edge. There is one Turkestan turquoise, plain with black veins, and there are two inscribed, one with the name of God in guilt, and the other being cracked across for it came out of an old ring. I cannot read, but we have now all five blue stones, four flawed emeralds there are, but one is drilled in two places, and one is a little carven. There waits," said Logan Saib, impassively. Three, five, five, and four rutties as I judge it. There is one piece of old greenish pipe amber, and a cut topaz from Europe. There is one ruby of Burma of two rutties, without a flaw, and there is a ballast ruby flawed of two rutties. There is a carved ivory from China, representing a rat, sucking an egg, and there is, last, aha, a ball of crystal, as big as a bean, set on a gold leaf. He clapped his hands at the close. He is thy master," said Logan, smiling. Ha! he knew the names of the stones, said Kim, flushing. Try again with common things, such as he and I both know. They heaped the tray again with odds and ends gathered from the shop, and even the kitchen, and every time the child won, till Kim marveled. Bind my eyes, let me feel once with my fingers, and even then I will leave the open-eyed behind," he challenged. Kim stamped with vexation when the lad made his boast good. If it were men or horses, he said, I could do better. This, playing with tweezers and knives and scissors, is too little. Learn first, teach later," said Logan Saib. Is he thy master? Truly! But how is it done? By doing it many times over till it is done perfectly, for it is worth doing. The Hindu boy in highest feather, actually patted, came on the back. Do not despair," he said. I myself will teach thee. And I will see that thou art well taught," said Logan Saib, still speaking in the vernacular. For except my boy here, it was foolish of him to buy so much white arsenic when, if he had asked, I could have given it. Except my boy here, I have not in a long time met with one better worth teaching. And there are ten days more ere thou canst return to Nakhlau, where they teach nothing at the long price. We shall, I think, be friends.