Then I laughed again, as I recalled the scene when the ragged-looking old saint had reviled and cursed and spat at me, thinking, too, of how wonderfully he had carried out the disguise, and what pain he must have suffered from his wounds.
Then I began to think more seriously of Dost’s risk, for if he were discovered it would mean instant death at the hands of the rajah’s men.
“He’ll come to-night,” I thought, and I waited patiently. But the night had nearly passed as I sat watching by the opening cut in my tent, before my heart began to beat, and I felt that he was near, for there was a low rustling sound, a short distance off, beneath the great tree.
“Poor old Dost!” I said to myself; “he is a brave, true fellow;” and then it was on my lips to say in a whisper, “Quick! this way,” when I turned cold, for there was a low muttering, and I awoke to the fact that Salaman was talking to some one away there in the darkness.
Acting on the impulse of the moment, I said aloud, “What’s that? Who’s there?”
“It is I, my lord,” came in Salaman’s voice.
“Is there anything wrong?” I said hastily, vexed with myself now for speaking.
“No, my lord;” he would call me my lord; “but I dared not leave the new opening to the tent unwatched. There might be serpents or a leopard or tiger prowling near.”
“Poor Dost!” I said to myself, and I might have added, “poor me!” for mine seemed to be a very pitiable case, and after a minute or two’s thought, I called to Salaman, who came at once to the freshly cut opening.
“It is cooler to-night,” I said sharply, as I turned now upon my couch, to which I had crept silently. “Fasten up the place.”