“I forgot,” said the mullah then, “that thou art her pet. She would not love thee unless thy smell was sweet.” “No,” said King quite cheerfully--going it blind, for he did not know what had possessed him to take that line, but knew he might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. “No, if I stank like thee she would not love me.” The mullah snorted and went back to the fire, but he took King's cake of soap with him and sat examining it. “Tauba!” he swore suddenly as if he had made a gruesome discovery. “Such filthy stuff is made from the fat of pigs!” “Doubtless!” said King. “That is why she uses it, and why I use it. She is a better Muhammadan than thou. She would surely cleanse her skin with the fat of pigs!” “Thou art a shameless one!” said the mullah, shaking his head like a bear. “I am what Allah made me!” answered King, and then, for the sake of the impression, he went through the outward form of muslim prayer, spreading a mat and omitting none of the genuflections. When he had finished he unfolded his own blankets that a woman had thrown down beside the chest and spread them carefully on the rock-shelf. But though he was allowed to climb up and lie there, he was not allowed to sleep--nor did he want to sleep--for more than an hour to come. The mullah came over from the fire again and stood beside him, glaring like a great animal and grumbling in his beard. “Does she surely love thee?” he asked at last, and King nodded, because he knew he was on the trail of information. “So thou art to ape the Sleeper in his bronze mail, eh? Thou art to come to life, as she was said to come to life, and the two of you are to plunder India? Is that it?” King nodded again, for a nod is less committal than a word; and the nod was enough to start the mullah off again. “I saw the Sleeper and his bride before she knew of either! It was I who let her into Khinjan! It was I who told the men she is the 'Heart of the Hills' come to life! She tricked me! But this is no hour for bearing grudges. She has a plan and I am minded to help.” King lay still and looked up at him, sure that treachery was the ultimate end of any plan the mullah Muhammad Anim had. India has been saved by the treachery of her enemies more often than ruined by false friends. So has the world, for that matter. “A jihad when the right hour comes will raise the tribes,” the mullah growled. “She and thou, as the Sleeper and his mate, could work wonders. But who can trust her? She stole that head! She stole all the ammunition! Does she surely love thee?” King nodded again, for modesty could not help him at that juncture. Love and boastfulness go together in the “Hills.” “She shall have thee back, then, at a price!” King did not answer. His brown eyes watched the mullah's, and he drew his breath in little jerks, lest by breathing aloud he should miss one word of what, was coming.