“You, who were seen to slay a man a yard this side of the border--”
“Nay; half a mile this side!”
“Half a mile, then. You who were seen to slay a fellow soldier of your regiment, and I who am a political offender, do not win pardons so easily as that.”
“Would they hang us?”
That was the first squeamishness the Pathan had shown of any kind, but men of his race would rather be tortured to death than hanged in a merciful hempen noose.
“They would hang us,” said King, “unless we came bearing gifts.”
“Gifts? Has Allah touched thee? What gifts should we bring? A dozen stolen rifles? A bag of silver? And I am the dreamer, am I?”
“Nay,” said King. “I am the dreamer. I have seen a good vision.”
“Well?”
“There are others in these Hills--others in Khinjan who wear British medals?”