They gaped at him. Were they to work wonders too? Were they to be part and parcel of the miracle? Watching them, King saw understanding dawn behind Ismail's eyes and knew he was winning more than a mere admirer. He knew it might be days yet, might be weeks before the truth was out, but it seemed to him that Ismail was at heart his friend. And there are no friendships stronger than those formed in the Khyber and beyond--no more loyal partnerships. The “Hills” are the home of contrasts, of blood-feuds that last until the last-but-one man dies, and of friendships that no crime or need or slander can efface. If the feuds are to be avoided like the devil, the friendships are worth having. “There is another thing ye might do,” he suggested, “if ye two grown men are afraid to see a boil slit open. Always there are timid patients who hang back and refuse to drink the medicines. There should be one or two among the crowd who will come forward and swallow the draughts eagerly, in proof that no harm results. Be ye two they!” Ismail spat savagely. “Nay! Bismillah! Nay, nay! I will hold them who have boils, sitting firmly on their bellies--so--or between their shoulders--thus--when the boils are behind! Nay, I will drink no draughts! I am a man, not a cess-pool!” “And I will study how to heat hot irons!” said Darya Khan, with grim conviction. “It is likely that, having worked for a blacksmith once, I may learn quickly! Phaughghgh! I have tasted physic! I have drunk Apsin Saats! (Epsom Salts.)” He spat, too, in a very fury of reminiscence. “Good!” said King. “Henceforward, then, I am Kurram Khan, the dakitar, and ye two are my assistants, Ismail to hold the men with boils, and Darya Khan to heat the irons--both of ye to be my men and support me with words when need be!” “Aye!” said Ismail, quick to think of details, “and these others shall be the tasters! They have big bellies, that will hold many potions without crowding. Let them swallow a little of each medicine in the chest now, for the sake of practise! Let them learn not to make a wry face when the taste of cess-pools rests on the tongue--” “Aye, and the breath comes sobbing through the nose!” said Darya Khan, remembering fragments of an adventurous career. “Let them learn to drink Apsin Saats without coughing!” “We will not drink the medicines!” announced the man who had a stomach ache. “Nay, nay!” But Ismail hit him with the back of his hand in the stomach again and danced away, hugging himself and shouting “Hee-yee-yee!” until the jackals joined him in discontented chorus and the Khyber Pass became full of weird howling. Then suddenly the old Afridi thought of something else and came back to thrust his face close to King's. “Why be a Rangar? Why be a Rajput, sahib? She loves us Hillmen better!” “Do I look like a Hillman of the 'Hills'?” asked King. “Nay, not now. But he who can work one miracle can work another. Change thy skin once more and be a true Hillman!”