Kim

agent for cotton. May he burn in Hell for it!'

'And wast thou?'

'O fool! I was the man they sought for the matter of the letter! I

ran into the Fleshers' Ward and came out by the House of the Jew, who

feared a riot and pushed me forth. I came afoot to Somna Road--I had

only money for my tikkut to Delhi--and there, while I lay in a ditch

with a fever, one sprang out of the bushes and beat me and cut me and

searched me from head to foot. Within earshot of the terain it was!'

'Why did he not slay thee out of hand?'

'They are not so foolish. If I am taken in Delhi at the instance of

lawyers, upon a proven charge of murder, my body is handed over to the

State that desires it. I go back guarded, and then--I die slowly for

an example to the rest of Us. The South is not my country. I run in

circles--like a goat with one eye. I have not eaten for two days. I

am marked'--he touched the filthy bandage on his leg--'so that they

will know me at Delhi.'

'Thou art safe in the te-rain, at least.'

'Live a year at the Great Game and tell me that again! The wires will

be out against me at Delhi, describing every tear and rag upon me.

Twenty--a hundred, if need be--will have seen me slay that boy. And

thou art useless!'

Kim knew enough of native methods of attack not to doubt that the case

would be deadly complete--even to the corpse. The Mahratta twitched

his fingers with pain from time to time. The Kamboh in his corner

glared sullenly; the lama was busy over his beads; and Kim, fumbling

doctor-fashion at the man's neck, thought out his plan between

invocations.

'Hast thou a charm to change my shape? Else I am dead. Five--ten

minutes alone, if I had not been so pressed, and I might--'

'Is he cured yet, miracle-worker?' said the Kamboh jealously. 'Thou

hast chanted long enough.'

'Nay. There is no cure for his hurts, as I see, except he sit for

three days in the habit of a bairagi.' This is a common penance, often

imposed on a fat trader by his spiritual teacher.

'One priest always goes about to make another priest,' was the retort.

Like most grossly superstitious folk, the Kamboh could not keep his

tongue from deriding his Church.

'Will thy son be a priest, then? It is time he took more of my

quinine.'

'We Jats are all buffaloes,' said the Kamboh, softening anew.

Kim rubbed a finger-tip of bitterness on the child's trusting little

lips. 'I have asked for nothing,' he said sternly to the father,

'except food. Dost thou grudge me that? I go to heal another man.

Have I thy leave--Prince?'

Up flew the man's huge paws in supplication. 'Nay--nay. Do not mock

me thus.'

'It pleases me to cure this sick one. Thou shalt acquire merit by

aiding. What colour ash is there in thy pipe-bowl? White. That is

auspicious. Was there raw turmeric among thy foodstuffs?'

'I--I--'

'Open thy bundle!'

It was the usual collection of small oddments: bits of cloth, quack

medicines, cheap fairings, a clothful of atta--greyish, rough-ground

native flour--twists of down-country tobacco, tawdry pipe-stems, and a

packet of curry-stuff, all wrapped in a quilt. Kim turned it over with

the air of a wise warlock, muttering a Mohammedan invocation.

'This is wisdom I learned from the Sahibs,' he whispered to the lama;

and here, when one thinks of his training at Lurgan's, he spoke no more

than the truth. 'There is a great evil in this man's fortune, as shown

by the Stars, which--which troubles him. Shall I take it away?'

'Friend of the Stars, thou hast done well in all things. Let it be at

thy pleasure. Is it another healing?'

'Quick! Be quick!' gasped the Mahratta. 'The train may stop.'

'A healing against the shadow of death,' said Kim, mixing the Kamboh's

flour with the mingled charcoal and tobacco ash in the red-earth bowl

of the pipe. E, without a word, slipped off his turban and shook down

his long black hair.

'That is my food--priest,' the jat growled.

'A buffalo in the temple! Hast thou dared to look even thus far?' said

Kim. 'I must do mysteries before fools; but have a care for thine

eyes. Is there a film before them already? I save the babe, and for

return thou--oh, shameless!' The man flinched at the direct gaze, for

Kim was wholly in earnest.

'Shall I curse thee, or shall I--' He picked up the outer cloth of the

bundle and threw it over the bowed head. 'Dare so much as to think a

wish to see, and--and--even I cannot save thee. Sit! Be dumb!'

'I am blind--dumb. Forbear to curse! Co--come, child; we will play a

game of hiding. Do not, for my sake, look from under the cloth.'

'I see hope,' said E23. 'What is thy scheme?'

'This comes next,' said Kim, plucking the thin body-shirt. E23

hesitated, with all a North-West man's dislike of baring his body.

'What is caste to a cut throat?' said Kim, rending it to the waist.

'We must make thee a yellow Saddhu all over. Strip--strip swiftly, and

shake thy hair over thine eyes while I scatter the ash. Now, a

caste-mark on thy forehead.' He drew from his bosom the little Survey

paint-box and a cake of crimson lake.

'Art thou only a beginner?' said E23, labouring literally for the dear

life, as he slid out of his body-wrappings and stood clear in the

loin-cloth while Kim splashed in a noble caste-mark on the ash-smeared

brow.

'But two days entered to the Game, brother,' Kim replied. 'Smear more

ash on the bosom.'

'Hast thou met--a physician of sick pearls?' He switched out his long,

tight-rolled turban-cloth and, with swiftest hands, rolled it over and

under about his loins into the intricate devices of a Saddhu's cincture.

'Hah! Dost thou know his touch, then? He was my teacher for a while.

We must bar thy legs. Ash cures wounds. Smear it again.'

'I was his pride once, but thou art almost better. The Gods are kind

to us! Give me that.'

It was a tin box of opium pills among the rubbish of the Jat's bundle.

E23 gulped down a half handful. 'They are good against hunger, fear,

and chill. And they make the eyes red too,' he explained. 'Now I

shall have heart to play the Game. We lack only a Saddhu's tongs.

What of the old clothes?'

Kim rolled them small, and stuffed them into the slack folds of his

tunic. With a yellow-ochre paint cake he smeared the legs and the

breast, great streaks against the background of flour, ash, and

turmeric.

'The blood on them is enough to hang thee, brother.'

'Maybe; but no need to throw them out of the window ... It is

finished.' His voice thrilled with a boy's pure delight in the Game.

'Turn and look, O Jat!'

'The Gods protect us,' said the hooded Kamboh, emerging like a buffalo

from the reeds. 'But--whither went the Mahratta? What hast thou done?'

Kim had been trained by Lurgan Sahib; E23, by virtue of his business,

was no bad actor. In place of the tremulous, shrinking trader there

lolled against the corner an all but naked, ash-smeared, ochre-barred,

dusty-haired Saddhu, his swollen eyes--opium takes quick effect on an

empty stomach--luminous with insolence and bestial lust, his legs

crossed under him, Kim's brown rosary round his neck, and a scant yard

of worn, flowered chintz on his shoulders. The child buried his face

in his amazed father's arms.

'Look up, Princeling! We travel with warlocks, but they will not hurt

thee. Oh, do not cry ... What is the sense of curing a child one day

and killing him with fright the next?'