“Sahib, this is Amîr Sahib’s tent; the tent of the great King; come not here I pray you.”
But the intruder, treating him with silent contempt, advanced. Once more he tried persuasion. Humbly taking off his turban he implored:—
“Sahib! Barai-i-Khuda! For God’s sake, approach no nearer; it is Amîr Sahib’s tent.”
The Arrest.
This last request being no more effective than the other, he determined to act boldly and arrest the intruder be he whom he might. Throwing down his rifle he pounced upon him, overpowered him, and then proceeded to make him fast. Driving four tent pegs into the ground he fastened his legs to two of the pegs and his head to the other two—in the manner that unruly horses are fixed in Afghanistan.
He felt he had done his duty, and taking up his rifle he continued his march in front of the tent. But, wai, wai! that he should have to tell it, when his back was turned, up came two of the gardeners and murdered the prisoner as he lay.
“Ah?” said the Amîr, with a gleam in his eye; “bring hither the body.”
The soldier withdrew, and presently returned bearing the body of the victim. It was a little mouse.
The Amîr looked at the soldier a moment and then burst into a hearty laugh. Everyone joined in—except the gardeners. They were called up—forty of them—and after being reprimanded for allowing mice in the garden, were ordered each of them to pay a fine of a certain number of mice every year.