“Why did you draw your knife?”
“Because I saw him, and he saw me, and I said to him, ‘Thou! We are not in Tilgaun. Have a care; the kites in this part are just as hungry as those that live farther to the north!’
“And to that he said, ‘Maybe. But the kites must say prayers to Garudi[[35]], it is not I who must feed them.’ And at that he took me by the ear and led me hither. He is altogether too despotic.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be a poor friend to rely on in a tight place,” said Ommony, smiling.
“I? I am a terror in a tight place! That is just what I am good at. But I like first to be sure it is a tight place, and that the luck is reasonable. Lately I have had bad luck. But wait and see!”
He sat down to sharpen his knife with a small imported hone that he had stolen somewhere, humming to himself a song about the feuds of Spiti, where
“A white mist rolls into a valley and sleeps,
O-ayee-O-ayee-O-ah!
There’s a knife in the mist, and a young widow weeps,
O-ayee-O-ayee-O-ah!”