"Oh, none," said I, carelessly; "you know I have not been this way for some years, and these are to prove that I have not forgotten you."
"Thanks for your kindness; may your condescension increase," said he; "but the bunij, Meer Sahib? You are a cunning gentleman; I know you of old. Who is he in the tents yonder? and why have so many Thugs collected here? You cannot conceal your designs from me."
"Nor do I wish it," said I; "but remember our old compact."
"I do—I do," said he, hurriedly; "but times are changed, and with them my masters. Know you not that this country belongs to the Sahib-logue?"
"And what of that, Potailjee?" said I; "what difference does it make?"
"None," he replied, "to me; but have you not seen the horsemen?"
"What horsemen?" cried I.
"Six," said he, "and a Duffadar. My poor village, it seems, has a bad name for thieves; and they have sent a party here to guard it. Alla help us, and keep the bread in our mouths!"
"And the Duffadar, what is he like?"
"He is a Hindoo," said the Potail, "and a Bhojpooree; he is called Hittah Singh; his men, too, are all of his tribe."