Sar Bahadur looked with faint interest at the bottle. “No, I have not tasted it. It is something forbidden, is it not?”
“This is a modern day. You should forget many of the old rules. I have tasted it and found it good. I will give you some if you wish.”
The little man made a shrug of unconcern, and soon had a glass in his hand with an inch of the clear brown fluid in the bottom of it. He sipped it cautiously, tasted the sharp bite of the liquor and coughed. The big man laughed and drank down a much larger potion without coughing. Sar Bahadur felt the warmth of the liquor in his stomach, and dutifully sipped again...
An hour later the two Gurkhas were sitting on the floor, the half-empty bottle standing on the rug between them. The big man had finished the major part of it, and, with the slighting reference to his occupation still in his mind, he was trying to convince the little man that he, Joodha Bahadur, was in truth an enviable man. Sar Bahadur felt faintly ill, but he had a sense of mental well being, a sort of clarity that he enjoyed. He decided to pry more information about Sehni Bahadur out of this man whose lips could not properly form his words.
He interrupted the self-adulation of Joodha Bahadur by saying, “How large a man is this Sehni Bahadur?”
The big man’s face took on an expression of ponderous slyness, and he mumbled, “You said you knew him. You said be loaned you money. Have you forgotten his appearance?”
“Yes. It has been many years.”
“He is a man as big as myself. He is a brave and bold man, with many deeds of prowess.” Sar Bahadur thought of the bravery involved in using the knife on women, and he grunted. The big man was stung by the tone of the grunt. “You question it?” he demanded. “How can a yellow insect like yourself question the deeds of a great man? I will show you the power of Sehni Bahadur.” He reached out a muscular hand, clutched the front of Sar Bahadur’s tattered tunic, and with a convulsive wrench rolled the little man across the floor. Even as Sar Bahadur rolled, the words of Joodha Bahadur cleared the numbness of the alcohol from his body.
He jumped to his feet at the same moment as the big man lurched up. “Yes, you little yellow bug, I am Sehni Bahadur! You have puzzled me. What do you want?”
Sar Bahadur stood motionless and a red glow seemed to creep in from the corners of his eyes until the room looked as though it were bathed in the light of a distant fire. The form of the big man grew misty as it stood swaying in front of him. The little man leaped forward, the silver lightning of the kukhri flashing through the air. At the instant of contact he turned the edge and dropped his arm. The blow from the flat blade struck the big man just below the shoulder and knocked him howling to the floor. Sar Bahadur stood over him, the mist gradually clearing. The big man rolled up onto his knees, grasping at his broken arm, a look of terror in his eyes. The face of the little man was the taut mask of death.
“What do I want? I want to pay my respects to the slayer of women. I want to see the color of the insides of a man who knifes women.”
“But they tried to poison me!”
“And for a reason. Prepare yourself.”
Sar Bahadur lifted the shining blade while the big man bellowed and screamed. There was not much time. Someone would come when they heard the great noises the big man was making. He paused, wondering which of the hundred slow deaths he would give to Sehni Bahadur. Then, with a shiver of disgust, he felt the joys of vengeance grow flat and stale in his mouth. It would soil his hands to give a slow death. The blade flashed and the screams stopped with abrupt suddenness. The body slumped heavily forward onto the rug. The wide glazing eyes stared up from the head which lay a few feet from the body. The blood soaked into the rug in a widening pool.
The door burst open and a tall tanned white man with grey hair rushed into the room. Sar Bahadur spun around, the blade half lifted. He was prepared to cut and slash his way out the door and out into the street, swinging and chopping with the razor edge until he was overcome and killed. The man stopped short and barked a command in Nepalese. Sar Bahadur stood at attention, the stained blade at his side. The man looked into the small grim face with curiosity and a certain compassion. He reached behind him and swung the door shut in the faces of many curious ones who cluttered up the corridor.
“What is this about? Why have you killed my servant, an unarmed man?”
In short quiet sentences, like a soldier giving a military report, Sar Bahadur told of all that had happened. He made no mention of the hunger and burning determination of his long search, but the white man looked at his lean form and the hollows under the heavy cheekbones and understood. When he was through he continued to stand at attention. The white man had spent many years in the East. He was wise and kind, and understood the questions of honor and pride involved. He knew that it was his responsibility to turn the little man over to the police for quick trial and execution. And yet he knew that there are things in the world which cannot be settled by judges and courts. The fans swirled the warm air down at the body on the floor. Unseeing eyes watched the slow deciding of the fate of the executioner.
Finally the white man spoke. He spoke slowly and thoughtfully, in the native tongue of Sar Bahadur. “I hired you because I suspected my servant of petty theft I set you to watch him. I opened the door in time to see my servant attack you. His death was the unfortunate result of your efforts to defend yourself. He was a much bigger man than you. I will tell all of this to the police and you will say nothing except to agree. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sahib. But why?”
“It is a matter which was finished when the blow was struck. Another death will not help matters.”
“I am grateful, sahib.”
“Will you become my servant?”
“A worthless man with but one arm?”
“A man with pride and determination.”
“If it is your desire, sahib. I will serve you faithfully with the life which you save.”
“It is my desire.” The white man walked to the telephone. He lifted it, and as he waited for an answer he looked into the eyes of the small Gurkha. Sar Bahadur smiled timidly, and sheathed the kukhri with the air of a man who has finished an unpleasant but a necessary duty.