"I crept down to see what Kafirs are like. They told me that rich white Feringhees were going through the pass, one riding on a beautiful horse. I hope that the horse is not yours?" she added in a tone of inquiry.
"No, the horse is not mine," replied Walter.
"I am glad of that," said the girl.
"And why?" inquired the Englishman.
"Because I should not like to loot you."
"Ha! a secret let out!" thought Walter. "Do you think that poor travellers ought to be looted?" he said aloud.
"No, but rich ones should," was the naive reply. "My father says there are big boxes all filled with treasure. He promised to change my silver bracelets for gold ones from the Feringhee's spoils."
Walter was almost as much amused by the frankness of the child, as alarmed by the information which she gave.
"What is your name?" he inquired.
"Sultána," replied the child, whose queenly manner suited her name. "Sometimes my father calls me his little eagle."