The thoughts came more slowly and disconnectedly. He was plunging into a beautiful dreamland when his ears caught a whisper, thin and sharp, above the monotonous babble round the fire. It came from behind the iron-skinned horse-truck.
“He is not here, then?”
“Where should he be but roystering in the city. Who looks for a rat in a frog-pond? Come away. He is not our man.”
“He must not go back beyond the Passes a second time. It is the order.”
“Hire some woman to drug him. It is a few rupees only, and there is no evidence.”
“Except the woman. It must be more certain; and remember the price upon his head.”
“Ay, but the police have a long arm, and we are far from the Border. If it were in Peshawur, now!”
“Yes—in Peshawur,” the second voice sneered. “Peshawur, full of his blood-kin—full of bolt-holes and women behind whose clothes he will hide. Yes, Peshawur or Jehannum would suit us equally well.”
“Then what is the plan?”
“O fool, have I not told it a hundred times? Wait till he comes to lie down, and then one sure shot. The trucks are between us and pursuit. We have but to run back over the lines and go our way. They will not see whence the shot came. Wait here at least till the dawn. What manner of faquir art thou, to shiver at a little watching?”