Kim might have saved his pity, for though at that moment the Bengali suffered acutely in the flesh, his soul was puffed and lofty. A mile down the hill, on the edge of the pine-forest, two half-frozen men—one powerfully sick at intervals—were varying mutual recriminations with the most poignant abuse of the Babu, who seemed distraught with terror. They demanded a plan of action. He explained that they were very lucky to be alive; that their coolies, if not then stalking them, had passed beyond recall; that the Rajah, his master, was ninety miles away, and, so far from lending them money and a retinue for the Simla journey, would surely cast them into prison if he heard that they had hit a priest. He enlarged on this sin and its consequences till they bade him change the subject. Their one hope, said he, was unostentatious flight from village to village till they reached civilization; and, for the hundredth time dissolved in tears, he demanded of the high stars why the Sahibs “had beaten holy man”. Ten steps would have taken Hurree into the creaking gloom utterly beyond their reach—to the shelter and food of the nearest village, where glib-tongued doctors were scarce. But he preferred to endure cold, belly-pinch, bad words, and occasional blows in the company of his honoured employers. Crouched against a tree-trunk, he sniffed dolefully. “And have you thought,” said the uninjured man hotly, “what sort of spectacle we shall present wandering through these hills among these aborigines?” Hurree Babu had thought of little else for some hours, but the remark was not to his address. “We cannot wander! I can hardly walk,” groaned Kim’s victim. “Perhaps the holy man will be merciful in loving-kindness, sar, otherwise—” “I promise myself a peculiar pleasure in emptying my revolver into that young bonze when next we meet,” was the unchristian answer. “Revolvers! Vengeance! Bonzes!” Hurree crouched lower. The war was breaking out afresh. “Have you no consideration for our loss? The baggage! The baggage!” He could hear the speaker literally dancing on the grass. “Everything we bore! Everything we have secured! Our gains! Eight months’ work! Do you know what that means? ‘Decidedly it is we who can deal with Orientals!’ Oh, you have done well.” They fell to it in several tongues, and Hurree smiled. Kim was with the _kiltas_, and in the _kiltas_ lay eight months of good diplomacy. There was no means of communicating with the boy, but he could be trusted. For the rest, Hurree could so stage-manage the journey through the hills that Hilás, Bunár, and four hundred miles of hill-roads should tell the tale for a generation. Men who cannot control their own coolies are little respected in the Hills, and the hillman has a very keen sense of humour.