He had definite proposals to make about the gun; it had plainly been weighed and considered, not being a matter to be lightly undertaken. It would not be wise for the sahib to buy it in Simla, where the price would be great and the article probably inferior. By our honours’ favour he, Atma, would go to his own village, where apparently they knew a thing or two about guns, and where, since they were all poor men, guns were also cheap, and there select one for our approbation. If our honours’ liking was not, he added, the gun could be sent back, but our honours’ liking would be. “Where is your village, worthy one?” asked Tiglath-Pileser. Atma waved his arm across the purple masses on the western horizon. “I will come to it in three days,” he said, and Tiglath-Pileser consented. “He wants leave,” said the master. “The gun is only a pretext, but it’s as good as a dead grandmother any day. Let him go.” But punctually on the evening of the tenth day Atma returned from his village shouldering a gun. Pride was in his port and pleasure in his countenance. It was an ancient muzzle-loader, respectable, useful, strong, in no way to be compared to a dead grandmother. The sahib gave it the honourable attention which all sahibs have for weapons of character, while Atma stood by and spoke of it as it had been indeed a relative. “Behold it is a beautiful gun, and it shall bring fear. Now I am but a gardener and know nothing; but my father is a man with understanding of all things, and though there were five guns to be bought in the village, he forbade the other four. My father showed me how the ribs of this were thick and its stomach was clean--is it so, sahib?--and how it would speak well and loudly. But the price is also great. Though my father spoke for three hours, till he was in anger, the price is also great.” “How much?” asked Tiglath-Pileser. “It could not be lessened,” said Atma anxiously, “thirteen rupees.” About seventeen and sixpence! The gun speaks well and loudly, and the monkeys are much entertained by it. They make off at a report with a great jabber of concern, but they have already discovered that it is a mere expression of opinion, with nothing in it to hurt, and they come back when their nerves are soothed to hear it again. They know that you cannot shoot your own relations; they rest with confidence upon the prehistoric tie, and oh, they presume upon it! Too far, perhaps. There is a broad-faced Thibetan in the bazaar, behind whose cheerful grin I am sure no conscience resides at all. Every year he sells me pheasants and partridges which I know he poaches from the Kingdom of Patiala--I am sure he would pot a fellow-poacher for a suitable consideration. When I suggest this, however, Tiglath-Pileser asks me if I like the idea of a hired assassin. I do not like the idea. I would rather do it myself, although even justifiable homicide has never been a favourite amusement of mine.