“And what is this shame, Namgay Doola?” I asked.
He grinned more charmingly than ever. “There is no shame,” said he. “I did but cut off the tail of that man's cow. He betrayed me. I was minded to shoot him, sahib, but not to death. Indeed, not to death; only in the legs.”
“And why at all, since it is the custom to pay revenue to the king? Why at all?”
“By the god of my father, I cannot tell,” said Namgay Doola.
“And who was thy father?”
“The same that had this gun.” He showed me his weapon, a Tower musket, bearing date 1832 and the stamp of the Honorable East India Company.
“And thy father's name?” said I.
He obeyed, and I understood whence the puzzling accent in his speech came. “Thimla Dhula!” said he, excitedly. “To this hour I worship his god.”
“May I see that god?”
“In a little while—at twilight time.”