But Ismail laughed and would not answer him. It seemed to King that he scented climax. So did his near-fifty and their thirty friends. He chose to take the arrival of the blind men as a hint from Providence and to “go it blind” on the strength of what he had hoped might happen. Also he chose in that instant to force the mullah's hand, on the principle that hurried buffaloes will blunder. “To Khinjan!” he shouted to the nearest man. “The mullah will march on Khinjan!” They murmured and wondered and backed away from him to give him room. Ismail watched him with dropped jaw and wild eye. “Spread it through the camp that we march on Khinjan! Shout it! Bid them strike the tents!” Somebody behind took up the shout and it went across the camp in leaps, as men toss a ball. There was a surge toward the tents, but King called to his deserters and they clustered back to him. He had to cement their allegiance now or fail altogether, and he would not be able to do it by ordinary argument or by pleading; he had to fire their imagination. And he did. “She is on our side!” That was a sheer guess. “She has kept our man and sent another as hostage for him in token of good faith! Listen! Ye saw this man's eyes healed. Let that be a token! Be ye the men with new eyes! Give it out! Claim the title and be true to it and see me guide you down the Khyber in good time like a regiment, many more than a hundred strong!” They jumped at the idea. The “Hills”--the whole East, for that matter--are ever ready to form a new sect or join a new band or a new blood-feud. Witness the Nikalseyns, who worship a long-since dead Englishman. “We see!” yelled one of them. “We see!” they chorused, and the idea took charge. From that minute they were a new band, with a war-cry of their own. “To Khinjan!” they howled, scattering through the camp, and the mullah came out to glare at them and tug his beard and wonder what possessed them. “To Khinjan!” they roared at him. “Lead us to Khinjan!” “To Khinjan, then!” he thundered, throwing up both arms in a sort of double apostolic blessing, and then motioning as if he threw them the reins and leave to gallop. They roared back at him like the sea under the whip of a gaining wind. And Ismail disappeared among them, leaving King alone. Then the mullah's eyes fell on King and he beckoned him. King went up with an effort, for he ached yet from his struggle of the night before. Up there by the ashes of the fire the mullah showed him a letter he had crumpled in his fist. There were only a few lines, written in Arabic, which all mullahs are supposed to be able to read, and they were signed with a strange scrawl that might have meant anything. But the paper smelt strongly of her perfume. “Come, then. Bring all your men, and I will let you and them enter Khinjan Caves. We will strike a bargain in the Cavern of Earth's Drink.”