Kim

some chance word should give him a returnable lead.

The one thing now in his mind was further information as to the Red

Bull. For aught he knew, and Kim's limitations were as curious and

sudden as his expansions, the men, the nine hundred thorough devils of

his father's prophecy, might pray to the beast after dark, as Hindus

pray to the Holy Cow. That at least would be entirely right and

logical, and the padre with the gold cross would be therefore the man

to consult in the matter. On the other hand, remembering sober-faced

padres whom he had avoided in Lahore city, the priest might be an

inquisitive nuisance who would bid him learn. But had it not been

proven at Umballa that his sign in the high heavens portended War and

armed men? Was he not the Friend of the Stars as well as of all the

World, crammed to the teeth with dreadful secrets? Lastly--and firstly

as the undercurrent of all his quick thoughts--this adventure, though

he did not know the English word, was a stupendous lark--a delightful

continuation of his old flights across the housetops, as well as the

fulfilment of sublime prophecy. He lay belly-flat and wriggled towards

the Mess-tent door, a hand on the amulet round his neck.

It was as he suspected. The Sahibs prayed to their God; for in the

centre of the Mess-table--its sole ornament when they were on the line

of march--stood a golden bull fashioned from old-time loot of the

Summer Palace at Pekin--a red-gold bull with lowered head, ramping upon

a field of Irish green. To him the Sahibs held out their glasses and

cried aloud confusedly.

Now the Reverend Arthur Bennett always left Mess after that toast, and

being rather tired by his march his movements were more abrupt than

usual. Kim, with slightly raised head, was still staring at his totem

on the table, when the Chaplain stepped on his right shoulder-blade.

Kim flinched under the leather, and, rolling sideways, brought down the

Chaplain, who, ever a man of action, caught him by the throat and

nearly choked the life out of him. Kim then kicked him desperately in

the stomach. Mr Bennett gasped and doubled up, but without relaxing

his grip, rolled over again, and silently hauled Kim to his own tent.

The Mavericks were incurable practical jokers; and it occurred to the

Englishman that silence was best till he had made complete inquiry.

'Why, it's a boy!' he said, as he drew his prize under the light of

the tent-pole lantern, then shaking him severely cried: 'What were you

doing? You're a thief. Choor? Mallum?' His Hindustani was very

limited, and the ruffled and disgusted Kim intended to keep to the

character laid down for him. As he recovered his breath he was

inventing a beautifully plausible tale of his relations to some

scullion, and at the same time keeping a keen eye on and a little under

the Chaplain's left arm-pit. The chance came; he ducked for the

doorway, but a long arm shot out and clutched at his neck, snapping the

amulet-string and closing on the amulet.

'Give it me. O, give it me. Is it lost? Give me the papers.'

The words were in English--the tinny, saw-cut English of the

native-bred, and the Chaplain jumped.

'A scapular,' said he, opening his hand. 'No, some sort of heathen

charm. Why--why, do you speak English? Little boys who steal are

beaten. You know that?'

'I do not--I did not steal.' Kim danced in agony like a terrier at a

lifted stick. 'Oh, give it me. It is my charm. Do not thieve it from

me.'

The Chaplain took no heed, but, going to the tent door, called aloud.

A fattish, clean-shaven man appeared.

'I want your advice, Father Victor,' said Bennett. 'I found this boy

in the dark outside the Mess-tent. Ordinarily, I should have chastised

him and let him go, because I believe him to be a thief. But it seems

he talks English, and he attaches some sort of value to a charm round

his neck. I thought perhaps you might help me.'

Between himself and the Roman Catholic Chaplain of the Irish contingent

lay, as Bennett believed, an unbridgeable gulf, but it was noticeable

that whenever the Church of England dealt with a human problem she was

very likely to call in the Church of Rome. Bennett's official

abhorrence of the Scarlet Woman and all her ways was only equalled by

his private respect for Father Victor.

'A thief talking English, is it? Let's look at his charm. No, it's

not a scapular, Bennett.' He held out his hand.

'But have we any right to open it? A sound whipping--'

'I did not thieve,' protested Kim. 'You have hit me kicks all over my

body. Now give me my charm and I will go away.'

'Not quite so fast. We'll look first,' said Father Victor, leisurely

rolling out poor Kimball O'Hara's 'ne varietur' parchment, his

clearance-certificate, and Kim's baptismal certificate. On this last

O'Hara--with some confused idea that he was doing wonders for his

son--had scrawled scores of times: 'Look after the boy. Please look

after the boy'--signing his name and regimental number in full.

'Powers of Darkness below!' said Father Victor, passing all over to Mr

Bennett. 'Do you know what these things are?'

'Yes.' said Kim. 'They are mine, and I want to go away.'

'I do not quite understand,' said Mr Bennett. 'He probably brought

them on purpose. It may be a begging trick of some kind.'

'I never saw a beggar less anxious to stay with his company, then.

There's the makings of a gay mystery here. Ye believe in Providence,

Bennett?'

'I hope so.'

'Well, I believe in miracles, so it comes to the same thing. Powers of

Darkness! Kimball O'Hara! And his son! But then he's a native, and I

saw Kimball married myself to Annie Shott. How long have you had these

things, boy?'

'Ever since I was a little baby.'

Father Victor stepped forward quickly and opened the front of Kim's

upper garment. 'You see, Bennett, he's not very black. What's your

name?'

'Kim.'

'Or Kimball?'

'Perhaps. Will you let me go away?'

'What else?'

'They call me Kim Rishti ke. That is Kim of the Rishti.'

'What is that--"Rishti"?'

'Eye-rishti--that was the Regiment--my father's.'

'Irish--oh, I see.'

'Yess. That was how my father told me. My father, he has lived.'

'Has lived where?'

'Has lived. Of course he is dead--gone-out.'

'Oh! That's your abrupt way of putting it, is it?'

Bennett interrupted. 'It is possible I have done the boy an injustice.

He is certainly white, though evidently neglected. I am sure I must

have bruised him. I do not think spirits--'

'Get him a glass of sherry, then, and let him squat on the cot. Now,

Kim,' continued Father Victor, 'no one is going to hurt you. Drink that

down and tell us about yourself. The truth, if you've no objection.'

Kim coughed a little as he put down the empty glass, and considered.

This seemed a time for caution and fancy. Small boys who prowl about

camps are generally turned out after a whipping. But he had received no

stripes; the amulet was evidently working in his favour, and it looked

as though the Umballa horoscope and the few words that he could

remember of his father's maunderings fitted in most miraculously. Else

why did the fat padre seem so impressed, and why the glass of hot

yellow drink from the lean one?

'My father, he is dead in Lahore city since I was very little. The

woman, she kept kabarri shop near where the hire-carriages are.' Kim

began with a plunge, not quite sure how far the truth would serve him.