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Such was my country and my people, for I am proud that in my veins runs the blood of the man who for a hundred miles around my boyhood home was known as The Tiger of the Pathans. Behold in me a grandson of Shir Jumla Khan." The narrator folded his arms across his breast, in an attitude of quiet dignity.

"In the early days of Shir Jumla Khan it had come about that several rich caravans had fallen exclusively into his hands. With the money thus provided by the bountifulness of Allah, he had been enabled to build for himself a citadel that for vastness and security surpassed those of all his rivals among the tribal chiefs.

"I was yet a young man when a widely spread plot among the rival tribesmen to destroy Shir Jumla Khan's power had come to a head, and had resulted in a determined and prolonged attack upon his citadel. Numbers had told, our outlying fields had been devastated, our flocks and herds driven away, and crowded within the walls of the fortress were refugees from all the surrounding countryside.

Let me tell you a story of the rough school in which I received my early training and where such thoughts as these first began to sink deep into my mind. "Have you ever heard of Shir Jumla Khan? No?

They and two women attendants are with my father, and he cannot leave them alone and unprotected. "Shir Jumla Khan stroked his beard; the appeal was one that reached his benignant heart. "'How could they come here? he asked, addressing the young man. "'We have a camel with panniers. In that they escaped from the camp last night. I myself could lead them hither.

Then it would seem that the owner of the tent had sent for one of the slippers which his visitor had left at the doorway, and with this had administered five or six strokes over the head, driving his guest forth insulted and disgraced. Every one in the camp was on the alert for fighting in the morning. "With a grim smile Shir Jumla Khan listened to this narrative.

"Shir Jumla Khan untied the packet, and produced therefrom a heavy gold signet ring. While he was examining this, the seeming goatherd raised his voice: "'O prince of princes, protector of the poor and oppressed, by the token in your hands know that I who wear this humble disguise am the son of Mustafa Khan, thy brother chieftain, who craves a refuge within the walls of this God-guarded citadel.

"But as Shir Jumla Khan grew rich in possessions and in power for scores of fighting men from afar were attracted to his service at the same time did his position among the tribesmen become one of increasing isolation. All feared him and envied him, and fear and envy have ever been breeders of hate.

His fleeing clansmen were now concealed in a gorge not a mile away, some two hundred fighting men, and would be glad to join their forces with those of Shir Jumla Khan, so that they might wipe out the stain of the dishonour they had suffered. If the gates were opened to them, they would come to the citadel that very night.

We had been cooped up through the summer, we had lost our annual crops, and without the usual replenishment granaries and warehouses were beginning to wear an empty look, with but sorry promise for the winter. But, calm and undismayed, his proud look and serene smile ever the same, Shir Jumla Khan continued to feed the hungry host within his gates and now absolutely dependent upon his protection.