“Rememberest thou the little business of the thieves in the dark, down yonder at Umballa?” “Seeing they sought my life, I have not altogether forgotten. Why?” “Rememberest thou the Kashmir Serai?” “I will twist thy ears in a moment—Sahib.” “No need—Pathan. Only, the second _faquir_, whom the Sahibs beat senseless, was the man who came to search thy bulkhead at Lahore. I saw his face as they helped him on the engine. The very same man.” “Why didst thou not tell before?” “Oh, he will go to jail, and be safe for some years. There is no need to tell more than is necessary at any one time. Besides, I did not then need money for sweetmeats.” “Allah kerim!” said Mahbub Ah. “Wilt thou some day sell my head for a few sweetmeats if the fit takes thee?” Kim will remember till he dies that long, lazy journey from Umballa, through Kalka and the Pinjore Gardens near by, up to Simla. A sudden spate in the Gugger River swept down one horse (the most valuable, be sure), and nearly drowned Kim among the dancing boulders. Farther up the road the horses were stampeded by a Government elephant, and being in high condition of grass food, it cost a day and a half to get them together again. Then they met Sikandar Khan coming down with a few unsaleable screws—remnants of his string—and Mahbub, who has more of horse-coping in his little fingernail than Sikandar Khan in all his tents, must needs buy two of the worst, and that meant eight hours’ laborious diplomacy and untold tobacco. But it was all pure delight—the wandering road, climbing, dipping, and sweeping about the growing spurs; the flush of the morning laid along the distant snows; the branched cacti, tier upon tier on the stony hillsides; the voices of a thousand water-channels; the chatter of the monkeys; the solemn deodars, climbing one after another with down-drooped branches; the vista of the Plains rolled out far beneath them; the incessant twanging of the tonga-horns and the wild rush of the led horses when a tonga swung round a curve; the halts for prayers (Mahbub was very religious in dry-washings and bellowings when time did not press); the evening conferences by the halting-places, when camels and bullocks chewed solemnly together and the stolid drivers told the news of the Road—all these things lifted Kim’s heart to song within him. “But, when the singing and dancing is done,” said Mahbub Ali, “comes the Colonel Sahib’s, and that is not so sweet.” “A fair land—a most beautiful land is this of Hind—and the land of the Five Rivers is fairer than all,” Kim half chanted. “Into it I will go again if Mahbub Ali or the Colonel lift hand or foot against me. Once gone, who shall find me? Look, Hajji, is yonder the city of Simla? Allah, what a city!” “My father’s brother, and he was an old man when Mackerson Sahib’s well was new at Peshawur, could recall when there were but two houses in it.”