"Not an uncommon occurrence. However, I can help you out of your difficulties, I hope, and enable you to find your friends," he answered, in a brisk, kind tone. "Come to my camp. We shall find it pitched not more than two or three miles from this, towards the other end of this wilderness of ruins." While we were speaking, a couple of Moors, hunters by profession they seemed, and other attendants, brown and scantily clothed, came up with a number of dogs. They expressed great satisfaction at seeing the buffalo dead, and cut out its tongue to carry away. The stranger directed them, as I understood, to return to the camp, saying that he would follow leisurely in a short time. He then turned to me. "Thank the old Santon, and tell him you will not trouble him to come further," said he. I explained that I could not speak a word of his language. "Oh, you have only lately come to the country," said the old gentleman. "I will then act interpreter for you." He spoke a few words to the hermit, and gave him a silver coin, which the latter placed reverently in his bosom, bowing low at the same time. "That is for himself, not for Buddha, though, I must tell him," observed the old gentleman. "We have no business to support their false gods and impious worship, under any pretext whatever. It only encourages them in their errors, and brings down retribution on the heads of those who ought to know better. Now, come along, my lad. I cannot take you up on my horse, nor can I walk, but you appear to possess a pair of good legs, which will carry you over the ground at a rate sufficient to keep up with me. Is that your dog? He is a fine beast. I must make his acquaintance. Now, wish the old hermit good-bye. Salaam to him. That will do. Come along.