“May she show good hunting!” answered King, draining his glass; and it was his first that day. “If it weren't for that note of hers that came down the Pass, and for one or two other things, I'd almost believe her a myth--one of those supposititious people who are supposed to express some ideal or other. Not an hallucination, you understand--nor exactly an embodied spirit, either. Perhaps the spirit of a problem. Let y be the Khyber district, z the tribes, and x the spirit of the rumpus. Find x. Get me?” “Not exactly. Got quinine in your kit, by the way?” “Plenty, thanks.” “What shall you do first after you get up the Pass? Call on your brother at Ali Masjid? He's likely to know a lot by the time you get there.” “Not sure,” said King. “May and may not. I'd like to see him. Haven't seen the old chap in a donkey's age. How is he?” “Well two days ago,” said Courtenay. “What's your general plan?” “Hunt!” said King. “Hunt for x and report. Hunt for the spirit of the coming ruction and try to scrag it! Live in the open when I can, sleep with the lice when it rains or snows, eat dead goat and bad bread, I expect; scratch myself when I'm not looking, and take a tub at the first opportunity. When you see me on my way back, have a bath made ready for me, will you--and keep to windward!” “Certainly!” said Courtenay. “What's the Rangar going to do with that mare of his? Suppose he'll leave her at Ali Masjid? He'll have to leave her somewhere on the way. She'll get stolen. Gad! That's the brightest notion yet! I'll make a point of buying her from the first horse-thief who comes traipsing down the Pass!” “Here's wishing you luck!” said King. “It's time to go, sir.” He rose, and Courtenay walked with him to where his party waited in the dark, chilled by the cold wind whistling down the Khyber. Rewa Gunga sat, mounted, at their head, and close to him his personal servant rode another horse. Behind them were the mules, and then in a cluster, each with a load of some sort on his head, were the thirty prisoners, and Ismail took charge of them officiously. Darya Khan, the man who had brought the letter down the Pass, kept close to Ismail. “Are you armed?” King asked, as soon as he could see the whites of the Rangar's eyes through the gloom. “You jolly well bet I am!” the Rangar laughed. King mounted, and Courtenay shook hands; then he went to Rewa Gunga's side and shook hands with him, too. “Good-by!” called King. “Good-by and good luck!” “Forward! March!” King ordered, and the little procession started. “Oh, men of the 'Hills,' ye look like ghosts--like graveyard ghosts!” jeered Courtenay, as they all filed past him. “Ye look like dead men, going to be judged!”