Mutaba burst into a torrent of language, at the same time throwing himself on all fours in front of the holy man.
The Hindu listened to him earnestly, stroking his long grey beard and occasionally rolling up his eyes in surprise.
Once in a while he gave vent to a word or two of question, and at that Mutaba spoke louder and faster than ever.
"That boy would be grand to have in a calm at sea," laughed Dan. "He is windy enough to keep the sails full."
"Or to run a windmill," Dick smiled. "But what's on the fellow's mind?"
"Looks as if we were going to stay here all day!"
Dan glanced at Raal, who was becoming more and more impatient at the long talk. Ever since the warrior had learned the whereabouts of the Princess Veena, he had been in a state of suppressed excitement. Now that they were so near to the camp where she was held captive, he could hardly restrain himself.
But the Mahatma showed not the slightest concern. In the life that he led, time meant nothing. The years could go by until they mounted up into centuries and it was all one to a man who believed as he did.
The Hindu's carriers were more like other humans, however. They shifted uneasily under the burden and once in a while a bearer would reach out to slap a stinging fly that had lighted on his leg.
Dick and Dan looked on, mopping the perspiration from their foreheads and finally Dick ventured to interrupt.