“I was cautioning those savages!” he explained. “They're an escort, but they need a reminder of the fact, else they might jolly well imagine themselves mountain goats and scatter among the 'Hills'!”
He drew out his wonderful cigarette case and offered it open to Courtenay, who hesitated, and then helped himself. King refused.
“Major Courtenay has just told me,” said King, “that nobody resembling Yasmini has gone up the Pass recently. Can you explain?”
“You see, I've been watching the Pass,” explained Courtenay.
The Rangar shook his head, blew smoke through his nose and laughed.
“And you did not see her go?” he said, as if he were very much amused.
“No,” said Courtenay. “She didn't go.”
“Can you explain?” asked King rather stiffly.
“Do you mean, can I explain why the major failed to see her? 'Pon my soul, King sahib, d'you want me to insult the man? Yasmini is too jolly clever for me, or for any other man I ever met; and the major's a man, isn't he? He may pack the Khyber so full of men that there's only standing room and still she'll go up without his leave if she chooses! There is nobody like Yasmini in all the world!”
The Rangar was looking past them, facing the great gorge that lets the North of Asia trickle down into India and back again when weather and the tribes permit. His eyes had become interested in the distance. King wondered why--and looked--and saw. Courtenay saw, too.