He led the horses below the main road into the lower Simla bazar—the crowded rabbit-warren that climbs up from the valley to the Town Hall at an angle of forty-five. A man who knows his way there can defy all the police of India’s summer capital, so cunningly does veranda communicate with veranda, alley-way with alley-way, and bolt-hole with bolt-hole. Here live those who minister to the wants of the glad city—jhampanis who pull the pretty ladies’ “rickshaws by night and gamble till the dawn; grocers, oil-sellers, curio-vendors, firewood-dealers, priests, pickpockets, and native employees of the Government. Here are discussed by courtesans the things which are supposed to be profoundest secrets of the India Council; and here gather all the sub-sub-agents of half the Native States. Here, too, Mahbub Ali rented a room, much more securely locked than his bulkhead at Lahore, in the house of a Mohammedan cattle-dealer. It was a place of miracles, too, for there went in at twilight a Mohammedan horseboy, and there came out an hour later a Eurasian lad—the Lucknow girl’s dye was of the best—in badly-fitting shop-clothes. “I have spoken with Creighton Sahib,” quoth Mahbub Ali, “and a second time has the Hand of Friendship averted the Whip of Calamity. He says that thou hast altogether wasted sixty days upon the Road, and it is too late, therefore, to send thee to any Hill-school.” “I have said that my holidays are my own. I do not go to school twice over. That is one part of my bond.” “The Colonel Sahib is not yet aware of that contract. Thou art to lodge in Lurgan Sahib’s house till it is time to go again to Nucklao.” “I had sooner lodge with thee, Mahbub.” “Thou dost not know the honour. Lurgan Sahib himself asked for thee. Thou wilt go up the hill and along the road atop, and there thou must forget for a while that thou hast ever seen or spoken to me, Mahbub Ali, who sells horses to Creighton Sahib, whom thou dost not know. Remember this order.” Kim nodded. “Good,” said he, “and who is Lurgan Sahib? Nay”—he caught Mahbub’s sword-keen glance—“indeed I have never heard his name. Is he by chance—he lowered his voice—“one of us?” “What talk is this of _us_, Sahib?” Mahbub Ali returned, in the tone he used towards Europeans. “I am a Pathan; thou art a Sahib and the son of a Sahib. Lurgan Sahib has a shop among the European shops. All Simla knows it. Ask there ... and, Friend of all the World, he is one to be obeyed to the last wink of his eyelashes. Men say he does magic, but that should not touch thee. Go up the hill and ask. Here begins the Great Game.” CHAPTER IX S’ doaks was son of Yelth the wise— Chief of the Raven clan. Itswoot the Bear had him in care To make him a medicine-man. He was quick and quicker to learn— Bold and bolder to dare: He danced the dread Kloo-Kwallie Dance To tickle Itswoot the Bear! _Oregon Legend._