“Aye!” King laughed. “And fall heir to a blood-feud with every second man I chance upon! A Hill-man is cousin to a hundred others, and what say they in the 'Hills'?--'to hate like cousins,' eh? All cousins are at war. As a Rangar I have left my cousins down in India. Better be a converted Hindu and be despised by some than have cousins in the 'Hills'! Besides--do I speak like a Hillman?” “Aye! Never an Afridi spake his own tongue better!” “Yet--does a Hillman slip? Would a Hillman use Punjabi words in a careless moment?”' “God forbid!” “Therefore, thou dunderhead, I will be a Rangar Rajput,--a stranger in a strange land, traveling by her favor to visit her in Khinjan! Thus, should I happen to make mistakes in speech or action, it may be overlooked, and each man will unwittingly be my advocate, explaining away my errors to himself and others instead of my enemy denouncing me to all and sundry! Is that clear, thou oaf?” “Aye! Thou art more cunning than any man I ever met!” The great Afridi began to rub the tips of his fingers through his straggly beard in a way that might mean anything, and King seemed to draw considerable satisfaction from it, as if it were a sign language that he understood. More than any one thing in the world just then he needed a friend, and he certainly did not propose to refuse such a useful one. “And,” he added, as if it were an afterthought, instead of his chief reason, “if her special man Rewa Gunga is a Rangar, and is known as a Rangar through out the 'Hills,' shall I not the more likely win favor by being a Rangar too? If I wear her bracelet and at the same time am a Rangar, who will not trust me?” “True! Thou art a magician!” “True!” agreed Ismail. But the moon was getting low and Khyber would be dark again in half an hour, for the great crags in the distance to either hand shut off more light than do the Khyber walls. The mist, too, was growing thicker. It was time to make a move. King rose. “Pack the mule and bring my horse!” he ordered and they hurried to obey with alacrity born of new respect, Darya Khan attending to the trimming of the mule's load in person instead of snarling at another man. It was a very different little escort from the one that had come thus far. Like King himself, it had changed its very nature in fifteen minutes! They brought the horse, and King laughed at them, calling the idiots--men without eyes. “The saddle?” Ismail suggested. “It is a government arrficer's saddle.” “Stolen!” said King, and they nodded. “Stolen along with the horse!” “Then the bridle?” “Stolen too, ye men without eyes! Ye insects! A stolen horse and saddle and bridle, are they not a passport of gentility this side of the border?” “Aye!” “I am Kurram Khan, the dakitar, but who in the 'Hills' would believe it? Look now--look ye and tell me what is wrong?” He pointed to the horse, and they stood in a row and stared.