“You mean, a promise between me and you? But I would have to keep it. That might be inconvenient.”
“I would promise for my part to assist you to return to Spiti at the proper time.”
“Oh, very well. Only I shall judge the proper time by when the devils have turned friendly. Loose me. I will behave myself.”
Ommony undid the rope and the Tibetan, far from objecting, stuck a stump of candle on the bare wood of the howdah frame, lighted it, produced a pack of cards, and challenged Dawa Tsering to a game. They played interminably, both men cheating, both appealing to Ommony to settle constant arguments, although there was no money involved.
“My honor is at stake,” Dawa Tsering grumbled after about a dozen furious disputes. “This ignorant Tibetan says I am a liar.”
“So you are,” said Ommony.
“That may be. But he has no right to give himself airs. He is the greater one. Look! He has five cards tucked under his knee, whereas I had but two!”
He shoved the Tibetan so that his knee moved and uncovered the missing cards, two of which slipped down between the howdah and the elephant’s flank, thus putting an end to the game.
“But I have dice!” said Dawa Tsering; and from then until dawn they murdered time and peace with those things, while Diana, her tongue hanging out with the heat, panted and shifted restlessly, but Ommony snatched scraps of sleep, dimly aware that Dawa Tsering was losing more often than he won, growing more and more indignant with devils who refused to bring him luck.
“I will obey thee, Gupta Rao, until the luck changes,” he said at last. “My dice are loaded, yet even so I can not win! Luck is funny stuff.”