Kim

or thirty yards away, and the Babu, the slack of his thin gear snapping

like a marking-flag in the chill breeze, stood by with an air of happy

proprietorship.

'These are the men,' Hurree whispered, as the ritual went on and the

two whites followed the grass-blade sweeping from Hell to Heaven and

back again. 'All their books are in the large kilta with the reddish

top--books and reports and maps--and I have seen a King's letter that

either Hilas or Bunar has written. They guard it most carefully. They

have sent nothing back from Hilas or Leh. That is sure.'

'Who is with them?'

'Only the beegar-coolies. They have no servants. They are so close

they cook their own food.'

'But what am I to do?'

'Wait and see. Only if any chance comes to me thou wilt know where to

seek for the papers.'

'This were better in Mahbub Ali's hands than a Bengali's,' said Kim

scornfully.

'There are more ways of getting to a sweetheart than butting down a

wall.'

'See here the Hell appointed for avarice and greed. Flanked upon the

one side by Desire and on the other by Weariness.' The lama warmed to

his work, and one of the strangers sketched him in the quick-fading

light.

'That is enough,' the man said at last brusquely. 'I cannot understand

him, but I want that picture. He is a better artist than I. Ask him if

he will sell it.'

'He says "No, sar,"' the Babu replied. The lama, of course, would no

more have parted with his chart to a casual wayfarer than an archbishop

would pawn the holy vessels of his cathedral. All Tibet is full of

cheap reproductions of the Wheel; but the lama was an artist, as well

as a wealthy Abbot in his own place.

'Perhaps in three days, or four, or ten, if I perceive that the Sahib

is a Seeker and of good understanding, I may myself draw him another.

But this was used for the initiation of a novice. Tell him so, hakim.'

'He wishes it now--for money.'

The lama shook his head slowly and began to fold up the Wheel. The

Russian, on his side, saw no more than an unclean old man haggling over

a dirty piece of paper. He drew out a handful of rupees, and snatched

half-jestingly at the chart, which tore in the lama's grip. A low

murmur of horror went up from the coolies--some of whom were Spiti men

and, by their lights, good Buddhists. The lama rose at the insult; his

hand went to the heavy iron pencase that is the priest's weapon, and

the Babu danced in agony.

'Now you see--you see why I wanted witnesses. They are highly

unscrupulous people. Oh, sar! sar! You must not hit holyman!'

'Chela! He has defiled the Written Word!'

It was too late. Before Kim could ward him off, the Russian struck the

old man full on the face. Next instant he was rolling over and over

downhill with Kim at his throat. The blow had waked every unknown

Irish devil in the boy's blood, and the sudden fall of his enemy did

the rest. The lama dropped to his knees, half-stunned; the coolies

under their loads fled up the hill as fast as plainsmen run aross the

level. They had seen sacrilege unspeakable, and it behoved them to get

away before the Gods and devils of the hills took vengeance. The

Frenchman ran towards the lama, fumbling at his revolver with some

notion of making him a hostage for his companion. A shower of cutting

stones--hillmen are very straight shots--drove him away, and a coolie

from Ao-chung snatched the lama into the stampede. All came about as

swiftly as the sudden mountain-darkness.

'They have taken the baggage and all the guns,' yelled the Frenchman,

firing blindly into the twilight.

'All right, sar! All right! Don't shoot. I go to rescue,' and

Hurree, pounding down the slope, cast himself bodily upon the delighted

and astonished Kim, who was banging his breathless foe's head against a

boulder.

'Go back to the coolies,' whispered the Babu in his ear. 'They have

the baggage. The papers are in the kilta with the red top, but look

through all. Take their papers, and specially the murasla [King's

letter]. Go! The other man comes!'

Kim tore uphill. A revolver-bullet rang on a rock by his side, and he

cowered partridge-wise.

'If you shoot,' shouted Hurree, 'they will descend and annihilate us.

I have rescued the gentleman, sar. This is particularly dangerous.'

'By Jove!' Kim was thinking hard in English. 'This is dam'-tight

place, but I think it is self-defence.' He felt in his bosom for

Mahbub's gift, and uncertainly--save for a few practice shots in the

Bikanir desert, he had never used the little gun--pulled the trigger.

'What did I say, sar!' The Babu seemed to be in tears. 'Come down

here and assist to resuscitate. We are all up a tree, I tell you.'

The shots ceased. There was a sound of stumbling feet, and Kim hurried

upward through the gloom, swearing like a cat--or a country-bred.

'Did they wound thee, chela?' called the lama above him.

'No. And thou?' He dived into a clump of stunted firs.

'Unhurt. Come away. We go with these folk to Shamlegh-under-the-Snow.'

'But not before we have done justice,' a voice cried. 'I have got the

Sahibs' guns--all four. Let us go down.'

'He struck the Holy One--we saw it! Our cattle will be barren--our

wives will cease to bear! The snows will slide upon us as we go

home... Atop of all other oppression too!'

The little fir-clump filled with clamouring coolies--panic-stricken,

and in their terror capable of anything. The man from Ao-chung clicked

the breech-bolt of his gun impatiently, and made as to go downhill.

'Wait a little, Holy One; they cannot go far. Wait till I return,'

said he.

'It is this person who has suffered wrong,' said the lama, his hand

over his brow.

'For that very reason,' was the reply.

'If this person overlooks it, your hands are clean. Moreover, ye

acquire merit by obedience.'

'Wait, and we will all go to Shamlegh together,' the man insisted.

For a moment, for just so long as it needs to stuff a cartridge into a

breech-loader, the lama hesitated. Then he rose to his feet, and laid

a finger on the man's shoulder.

'Hast thou heard? I say there shall be no killing--I who was Abbot of

Such-zen. Is it any lust of thine to be re-born as a rat, or a snake

under the eaves--a worm in the belly of the most mean beast? Is it thy

wish to--'

The man from Ao-chung fell to his knees, for the voice boomed like a

Tibetan devil-gong.

'Ai! ai!' cried the Spiti men. 'Do not curse us--do not curse him.

It was but his zeal, Holy One! ... Put down the rifle, fool!'

'Anger on anger! Evil on evil! There will be no killing. Let the

priest-beaters go in bondage to their own acts. Just and sure is the

Wheel, swerving not a hair! They will be born many times--in torment.'

His head drooped, and he leaned heavily on Kim's shoulder.

'I have come near to great evil, chela,' he whispered in that dead hush

under the pines. 'I was tempted to loose the bullet; and truly, in

Tibet there would have been a heavy and a slow death for them ... He

struck me across the face ... upon the flesh ...' He slid to the

ground, breathing heavily, and Kim could hear the over-driven heart

bump and check.

'Have they hurt him to the death?' said the Ao-chung man, while the

others stood mute.

Kim knelt over the body in deadly fear. 'Nay,' he cried passionately,

'this is only a weakness.' Then he remembered that he was a white man,

with a white man's camp-fittings at his service. 'Open the kiltas! The