Now the art of ruling India consists not in treading barefooted on scorpions--not in virtuous indignation at men who know no better--but in seeking for and making much of the gold that lies ever amid the dross. There is gold in the character of any man who once passed the grilling tests before enlistment in a British-Indian regiment. It may need experience to lay a finger on it, but it is surely there. “I heard,” said King, “as I came toward the Khyber in great haste (for the police were at my heels)--” “Ah, the police!” the Pathan grinned pleasantly. The inference was that at some time or other he had left his mark on the police. “I heard,” said King, “that men are flocking back to their old regiments.” “Aye, but not men with a price on their heads, little hakim!” “I could not say,” said King. To seem to know too much is as bad as to drink too much. “But I heard say that the sirkar has offered pardons to all deserters who return.” “Hah! The sirkar must be afraid. The sirkar needs men!” “For myself,” said King, “a whole skin in the 'Hills' seems better than one full of bullet holes in India.” “Hah! But thou art a hakim, not a soldier!” “True!” said King. “Tell me that again! Free pardons? Free pardons for all deserters?” “So I heard.” “Ah! But I was seen to slay a man of my own regiment.” “On this side the border or that?” asked King artfully. “On this side.” “Ah, but you were seen.” “Ay! But that is no man's business. In India I earned in my salt. I obeyed the law. There is no law here in the 'Hills.' I am minded to go back and seek that pardon! It would feel good to stand in the rank again, with a stiff-backed sahib out in front of me, and the thunder of the gun-wheels going by. The salt was good! Come thou with me!” “The pardon is for deserters,” King objected, “not for political offenders.” “Haugh!” said the Pathan, bringing down his flat hand hard on the hakim's thigh. “I will attend to that for thee. I will obtain my pardon first. Then will I lead thee by the hand to the karnal sahib and lie to him and say, 'This is the one who persuaded me against my will to come back to the regiment!”' “And he will believe? Nay, I would be afraid!” said King. “Would a pardon not be good?” the Pathan asked him. “A pardon and leave to swagger through the bazaars again and make trouble with the daughters and wives of fat traders--a pardon--Allah! It would be good to salute the karnal sahib again and see him raise a finger, thus; and to have the captain sahib call me a scoundrel--or some worse name if he loves me very much, for the English are a strange race--” “Thou art a dreamer!” said King. “Untie my hands; the thong cuts me.” The Pathan obeyed. “Dreamer, am I? It is good to dream such dreams. By Allah, I've a mind to see that dream come true! I never slew a man on Indian soil, only in these 'Hills.' I will go to them and say 'Here I am! I am a deserter. I seek that pardon!' 'Truly I will go! Come thou with me, little hakim!”