“If I had done it myself,” thought Hurree, “it would not have been better; and, by Jove, now I think of it, of course I arranged it myself. How quick I have been! Just when I ran downhill I thought it! Thee outrage was accidental, but onlee me could have worked it—ah—for all it was dam’-well worth. Consider the moral effect upon these ignorant peoples! No treaties—no papers—no written documents at all—and _me_ to interpret for them. How I shall laugh with the Colonel! I wish I had their papers also: but you cannot occupy two places in space simultaneously. Thatt is axiomatic.” CHAPTER XIV My brother kneels (so saith Kabir) To stone and brass in heathen wise, But in my brother’s voice I hear My own unanswered agonies. His God is as his Fates assign— His prayer is all the world’s—and mine. KABIR. At moonrise the cautious coolies got under way. The lama, refreshed by his sleep and the spirit, needed no more than Kim’s shoulder to bear him along—a silent, swift-striding man. They held the shale-sprinkled grass for an hour, swept round the shoulder of an immortal cliff, and climbed into a new country entirely blocked off from all sight of Chini valley. A huge pasture-ground ran up fan-shaped to the living snow. At its base was perhaps half an acre of flat land, on which stood a few soil and timber huts. Behind them—for, hill-fashion, they were perched on the edge of all things—the ground fell sheer two thousand feet to Shamlegh-midden, where never yet man has set foot. The men made no motion to divide the plunder till they had seen the lama bedded down in the best room of the place, with Kim shampooing his feet, Mohammedan-fashion. “We will send food,” said the Ao-chung man, “and the red-topped _kilta_. By dawn there will be none to give evidence, one way or the other. If anything is not needed in the _kilta_—see here!” He pointed through the window—opening into space that was filled with moonlight reflected from the snow—and threw out an empty whisky-bottle. “No need to listen for the fall. This is the world’s end,” he said, and went out. The lama looked forth, a hand on either sill, with eyes that shone like yellow opals. From the enormous pit before him white peaks lifted themselves yearning to the moonlight. The rest was as the darkness of interstellar space. “These,” he said slowly, “are indeed my Hills. Thus should a man abide, perched above the world, separated from delights, considering vast matters.” “Yes; if he has a _chela_ to prepare tea for him, and to fold a blanket for his head, and to chase out calving cows.” A smoky lamp burned in a niche, but the full moonlight beat it down; and by the mixed light, stooping above the food-bag and cups, Kim moved like a tall ghost. “Ai! But now I have let the blood cool, my head still beats and drums, and there is a cord round the back of my neck.” “No wonder. It was a strong blow. May he who dealt it—” “But for my own passions there would have been no evil.”