"How much, Meer Sahib? I want money; my rents are in arrears, and I am in distress."
"Thirty rupees," said I.
"Make it fifty, I beseech you. You know not in what a strait I am; I cannot borrow the money, and you have been sent by Alla for my deliverance. You will lend me the money if you will not give it me? and you will have good bunij in this business."
"Well," said I, "you shall have it, but on one condition. We may not be on the road when some people whom we are looking out for pass this place: they are Dacoos; they have some Tattoos with them, and great wealth. If they pass either way, you must send men after us with a letter."
"I will send my own sons, well mounted," replied he; "they will easily find you out, and you may depend on me. Where will these fellows come from?"
"They have gone to Hyderabad now," said I, "and will return by Nagpoor. If we meet them, all very well; but they may escape us."
"They shall not, by Alla!" said the Potail. "I will watch for them myself, and if you get them I shall hope for a handsome present."
"I will not forget you. But here we are at the camp: take care no one sees the money as you carry it away."
"Trust an old hand for that," said he, with a knowing wink. "I must go after I have got it to the Moonshee, who has sent for me about fodder for his horses. I should like to see him, too—to see a man whose breath is in his nostrils. And he has a wife too."
"Yes," said I, "there is no getting her out of the way, so she must die, which is a pity. He has a child also, about, four years old, which I want myself: he is a pretty boy, and I have no son to bless me; he will never know the difference between me and his father after a few days."