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'Not as good as Yankling Sahib. The Ao-chung man took a pull at the whisky-bottle and passed it over. 'Now hear me unless any other man thinks he knows more. The challenge was not taken up. 'We go to Shamlegh when the moon rises. There we will fairly divide the baggage between us. I am content with this new little rifle and all its cartridges.
He drew from his breast a bottle of cheap whisky such as is sold to explorers at Leh and cleverly forced a little between the lama's teeth. 'So I did when Yankling Sahib twisted his foot beyond Astor. Aha! I have already looked into their baskets but we will make fair division at Shamlegh. Give him a little more. It is good medicine. Feel! His heart goes better now.
But that renegade, with a new Mannlicher rifle and two hundred cartridges, is elsewhere, shooting musk-deer for the market, and Yankling Sahib will learn next season how very ill he has been. Up the valleys of Bushahr the far-beholding eagles of the Himalayas swerve at his new blue-and-white gored umbrella hurries a Bengali, once fat and well-looking, now lean and weather-worn.
'If the worst comes to the worst, I shall tell Yankling Sahib, who is a man of a merry mind, and he will laugh. We are not doing any wrong to any Sahibs whom we know. They are priest-beaters. They frightened us. We fled! Who knows where we dropped the baggage? Do ye think Yankling Sahib will permit down-country police to wander all over the hills, disturbing his game?
'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 Sahibs may have a medicine. 'Oho! Then I know it, said the Ao-chung man with a laugh. 'Not for five years was I Yankling Sahib's shikarri without knowing that medicine. I too have tasted it. Behold!
'It is well to be brave when one does not live in Rampur, said one whose hut lay within a few miles of the Rajah's rickety palace. 'If we get a bad name among the Sahibs, none will employ us as shikarris any more. 'Oh, but these are not Angrezi Sahibs not merry-minded men like Fostum Sahib or Yankling Sahib. They are foreigners they cannot speak Angrezi as do Sahibs.
Drawbridge let fall He's the Lord of us all The Dreamer whose dream came true! The Siege of the Fairies. Two hundred miles north of Chini, on the blue shale of Ladakh, lies Yankling Sahib, the merry-minded man, spy-glassing wrathfully across the ridges for some sign of his pet tracker a man from Ao-chung.
None will follow us to Shamlegh. This was the nervous Rampur man. 'I have been Fostum Sahib's shikarri, and I am Yankling Sahib's shikarri. I shall not leave this Holy One. They sat down a little apart from the lama, and, after listening awhile, passed round a water-pipe whose receiver was an old Day and Martin blacking-bottle.
Who ever heard of Fostum Sahib, or Yankling Sahib, or even the little Peel Sahib that sits up of nights to shoot serow I say, who, ever heard of these Sahibs coming into the hills without a down-country cook, and a bearer, and and all manner of well-paid, high-handed and oppressive folk in their tail? How can they make trouble? What of the kilta?
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