“_No!_”—with a gesture of disgust. “She went out when I was born. My father, he got these papers from the Jadoo-Gher what do you call that?” (Bennett nodded) “because he was in good-standing. What do you call that?” (again Bennett nodded). “My father told me that. He said, too, and also the Brahmin who made the drawing in the dust at Umballa two days ago, _he_ said, that I shall find a Red Bull on a green field and that the Bull shall help me.” “A phenomenal little liar,” muttered Bennett. “Powers of Darkness below, what a country!” murmured Father Victor. “Go on, Kim.” “I did _not_ thieve. Besides, I am just now disciple of a very holy man. He is sitting outside. We saw two men come with flags, making the place ready. That is _always_ so in a dream, or on account of a—a—prophecy. So I knew it was come true. I saw the Red Bull on the green field, and my father he said: ‘Nine hundred _pukka_ devils and the Colonel riding on a horse will look after you when you find the Red Bull!’ I did not know what to do when I saw the Bull, but I went away and I came again when it was dark. I wanted to see the Bull again, and I saw the Bull again with the—the Sahibs praying to it. I think the Bull shall help me. The holy man said so too. He is sitting outside. Will you hurt him, if I call him a shout now? He is very holy. He can witness to all the things I say, and he knows I am not a thief.” “‘Sahibs praying to a bull!’ What in the world do you make of that?” said Bennett. “‘Disciple of a holy man!’ Is the boy mad?” “It’s O’Hara’s boy, sure enough. O’Hara’s boy leagued with all the Powers of Darkness. It’s very much what his father would have done if he was drunk. We’d better invite the holy man. He may know something.” “He does not know anything,” said Kim. “I will show you him if you come. He is my master. Then afterwards we can go.” “Powers of Darkness!” was all that Father Victor could say, as Bennett marched off, with a firm hand on Kim’s shoulder. They found the lama where he had dropped. “The Search is at an end for me,” shouted Kim in the vernacular. “I have found the Bull, but God knows what comes next. They will not hurt you. Come to the fat priest’s tent with this thin man and see the end. It is all new, and they cannot talk Hindi. They are only uncurried donkeys.” “Then it is not well to make a jest of their ignorance,” the lama returned. “I am glad if thou art rejoiced, _chela_.” Dignified and unsuspicious, he strode into the little tent, saluted the Churches as a Churchman, and sat down by the open charcoal brazier. The yellow lining of the tent reflected in the lamplight made his face red-gold. Bennett looked at him with the triple-ringed uninterest of the creed that lumps nine-tenths of the world under the title of “heathen”. “And what was the end of the Search? What gift has the Red Bull brought?” The lama addressed himself to Kim.