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Hurree Babu had seen all he wanted to see when he sat on the threshing-floor of Ziglaur, twenty miles away as the eagle flies, and forty by road that is to say, two small dots which one day were just below the snow-line, and the next had moved downward perhaps six inches on the hillside.
News was at Ziglaur by midnight, and by tomorrow should be at Kotgarh. The villages are both afraid and angry. 'No need. Tell the villages to feed the Sahibs and pass them on, in peace. We must get them quietly away from our valleys. To steal is one thing to kill another. The Babu will understand, and there will be no after-complaints. Be swift. I must tend my master when he wakes. 'So be it.
This is the Wheel of Life, said the lama, 'the same I showed thee in the hut at Ziglaur when the rain fell. 'And to hear thee expound it. The lama's eyes lighted at the prospect of new listeners. 'To expound the Most Excellent Way is good. Have they any knowledge of Hindi, such as had the Keeper of Images? 'A little, maybe.
Once cleaned out and set to the work, his fat bare legs could cover a surprising amount of ground, and this was the reason why, while Kim and the lama lay in a leaky hut at Ziglaur till the storm should be over-past, an oily, wet, but always smiling Bengali, talking the best of English with the vilest of phrases, was ingratiating himself with two sodden and rather rheumatic foreigners.
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