King turned back and looked into the other caves--saw the weary horse and mule fed, watered and bedded down--took note of the running water that rushed out of a rock fissure and gurgled out of sight down another one--examined the servants' cave and saw that they had been amply provided with blankets. There was nothing lacking that the most exacting traveler could have demanded at such a distance from civilization. There was more than the most exacting would have dared expect.
“Why isn't it damp in here?” he wondered, returning to his own cave. And then he noticed long fissures in the cavern walls, and that the smoke from the lamps drifted toward them. He could not guess what made it do that, unless it were the suction of the enormous river hurrying underground; and then he remembered that at the entrance air had rushed downward into the hole down which the horse had disappeared, which partly confirmed his guess.
“Ismail!” he shouted, and jumped at the revolver-crack--like echo of his voice.
Ismail came running.
“Make the men carry the mule's packs into this cave. You and Darya Khan stay here and help me open them. Remember, ye are both assistants of Kurram Khan, the hakim!”
“They will laugh at us! They will laugh at us!” clucked Ismail, but he hurried to obey, while King wondered who would laugh.
Within an hour a delegation came from no less a person than Yasmini herself, bearing her compliments, and hot food savory enough to make a brass idol's mouth water. By that time King had his sets of surgical instruments and drugs and bandages all laid out on one of the beds and covered from view by a blanket.
It was only one more proof of the British army's everlasting luck that one of the men, who set the great brass dish of food on the floor near King, had a swollen cheek, and that he should touch the swelling clumsily, as he lifted his hand to shake back a lock of greasy hair.
There followed an oath like flint struck on steel ten times in rapid succession.
“Does it pain thee, brother?” asked Kurram Khan the hakim.