“They are well received by Hilás and Bunár. They make great promises; they speak as the mouthpiece of a Kaisar with gifts. Up the valleys, down the valleys go they, saying, ‘Here is a place to build a breastwork; here can ye pitch a fort. Here can ye hold the road against an army’—the very roads for which I paid out the rupees monthly. The Government knows, but does nothing. The three other Kings, who were _not_ paid for guarding the Passes, tell them by runner of the bad faith of Bunár and Hilás. When all the evil is done, look you—when these two strangers with the levels and the compasses make the Five Kings to believe that a great army will sweep the Passes tomorrow or the next day—Hill-people are all fools—comes the order to me, Hurree Babu, ‘Go North and see what those strangers do.’ I say to Creighton Sahib, ‘This is not a lawsuit, that we go about to collect evidence.’” Hurree returned to his English with a jerk: “‘By Jove,’ I said, ‘why the dooce do you not issue demi-offeecial orders to some brave man to poison them, for an example? It is, if you permit the observation, most reprehensible laxity on your part.’ And Colonel Creighton, he laughed at me! It is all your beastly English pride. You think no one dare conspire! That is all tommy-rott.” Kim smoked slowly, revolving the business, so far as he understood it, in his quick mind. “Then thou goest forth to follow the strangers?” “No. To meet them. They are coming in to Simla to send down their horns and heads to be dressed at Calcutta. They are exclusively sporting gentlemen, and they are allowed special faceelities by the Government. Of course, we always do that. It is our British pride.” “Then what is to fear from them?” “By Jove, they are not black people. I can do all sorts of things with black people, of course. They are Russians, and highly unscrupulous people. I—I do not want to consort with them without a witness.” “Will they kill thee?” “Oah, thatt is nothing. I am good enough Herbert Spencerian, I trust, to meet little thing like death, which is all in my fate, you know. But—but they may beat me.” “Why?” Hurree Babu snapped his fingers with irritation. “Of _course_ I shall affeeliate myself to their camp in supernumerary capacity as perhaps interpreter, or person mentally impotent and hungree, or some such thing. And then I must pick up what I can, I suppose. That is as easy for me as playing Mister Doctor to the old lady. Onlee—onlee—you see, Mister O’Hara, I am unfortunately Asiatic, which is serious detriment in some respects. And _all_so I am Bengali—a fearful man.” “God made the Hare and the Bengali. What shame?” said Kim, quoting the proverb.