“Nay,” said King, “I have another thought.” “What then?” “You, who were seen to slay a man a yard this side of the border--” “Nay; half a mile this side!” “Half a mile, then. You who were seen to slay a fellow soldier of your regiment, and I who am a political offender, do not win pardons so easily as that.” “Would they hang us?” That was the first squeamishness the Pathan had shown of any kind, but men of his race would rather be tortured to death than hanged in a merciful hempen noose. “They would hang us,” said King, “unless we came bearing gifts.” “Gifts? Has Allah touched thee? What gifts should we bring? A dozen stolen rifles? A bag of silver? And I am the dreamer, am I?” “Nay,” said King. “I am the dreamer. I have seen a good vision.” “Well?” “There are others in these Hills--others in Khinjan who wear British medals?” The Pathan nodded. “How many?” asked King. “Hundreds. Men fight first on one side, then on the other, being true to either side while the contract lasts. In all there must be the makings of many regiments among the 'Hills.'” King nodded. He himself had seen the chieftains come to parley after the Tirah war. Most of them had worn British medals and had worn them proudly. “If we two,” he said, speaking slowly, “could speak with some of those men and stir the spirit in them and persuade them to feel as thou dost, mentioning the pardon for deserters and the probability of bonuses to the time-expired for reenlistment; if we could march down the Khyber with a hundred such, or even with fifty or with twenty-five or with a dozen men--we would receive our pardon for the sake of service rendered.” “Good!” The Pathan thumped him on the back so hard that his eyes watered. “We would have to use much caution,” King advised him, when he was able to speak again. “Aye! If Bull-with-a-beard got wind of it he would have us crucified. And if she heard of it--” He was silent. Apparently there were no words in his tongue that could compass his dread of her revenge. He was silent for ten minutes, and King sat still beside him, letting memory of other days do its work--memory of the long, clean regimental lines, and of order and decency and of justice handed out to all and sundry by gentlemen who did not think themselves too good to wear a native regiment's uniform. “In two days I could do the drill again as well as ever,” he said at last. Then there was silence again for fifteen minutes more. “I could always shoot,” he murmured; “I could always shoot.” When Muhammad Anim came back they had both forgotten to replace the lashing on King's wrists, but the mullah seemed not to notice it. “Come!” he ordered, with a sidewise jerk of his great ugly head, and then stood muttering impatiently while they obeyed.