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Updated: June 8, 2025
Through a gap under an arch in a far corner of the courtyard came a one-eyed, lean-looking villain in Afridi dress who leaned on a long gun and stared at them under his hand. After a leisurely consideration of them he rubbed his nose slowly with one finger, spat contemptuously, and then used the finger to beckon them, crooking it queerly and turning on his heel. He did not say one word.
The fear of ridicule there was the weak point of the Afridi, as Ralston very well knew. To be laughed at Futteh Ali Shah, who was wont to lord it among his friends, writhed under the mere possibility. And how they would laugh in and round about Peshawur!
He tried to look sidewise, but the rope that held him tight to the Afridi hurt his neck. "I knew it, sahib!" he shouted. "I knew that one would come for me! This hill wildcat has fought until the ropes cut both of us; but take time, sahib! I can wait. Attend to the duty first. Only let him who comes bring water with him, for this is a thirsty place!" Ranjoor Singh looked sidewise.
But it opened suspiciously quickly and a bearded Afridi, of all unlikely people, thrust an expectant face outward, rather like a tortoise emerging from its shell, blinking as he tried to recognize the shadowy forms that moved in the confusing lamplight.
King asked him, trying a new line. "Bull-with-a-beard's." "And whose man art thou, Ismail?" The Afridi hesitated, and when he spoke at last there was not quite the same assurance in his voice as once there had been. "I am hers! Be thou hers, too! But it is night. Sleep against the toil tomorrow. There be many sick in Khinjan."
"Who killed the Afridi?" "Does the burra sahib think I killed him?" "I asked a question!" snapped the general. "In the first place, then, Ranjoor Singh, the buffalo, struck the Afridi with his foot. The Afridi, who was a dog with yellow teeth, went outside to sing sweet compliments to Ranjoor Singh.
Then suddenly the old Afridi thought of something else and came back to thrust his face close to King's. "Why be a Rangar? Why be a Rajput, sahib? She loves us Hillmen better!" "Do I look like a Hillman of the 'Hills'?" asked King. "Nay, not now. But he who can work one miracle can work another. Change thy skin once more and be a true Hillman!" "Aye!" King laughed.
The troopers swaggered at a drilled man's marching pace; the Afridi came like a wind devil, ripping down a gully from the northern hills, all frenzy. Had he not seen red again, had only a little brain work mingled in his rage, he would have scored a clean victory and have been free to wreak red vengeance on the rest.
And, before he started home, his men who waited in the street thrashed an Afridi within an inch of his life for threatening to report Ranjoor Singh's presence at the lecture to the authorities." "Who told you this?" asked Colonel Kirby. "The Afridi, Yasmini, and three hillmen who were there by invitation. I spoke with them all less than an hour ago. They all agree.
Certain Sikhs heard him of whom one was the trooper who waits in another room with Ranjoor Singh and they beat him nearly to death because, being buffaloes themselves, they love Ranjoor Singh, who is the greatest buffalo of all. "For revenge, the Afridi told tales of Ranjoor Singh, and later knifed one Sikh trooper who had beaten him.
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