"The Sahib has seen his Great Dane Nels kill a second cheetah in one day. There are two cuts on each leg. Also because Nels must not lose his strength on a fast journey to his master's place—I, Bhanah, will uncover mine honour in the presence of a man."
And quickly casting his turban from his head, he proceeded to tear it down the middle. While he worked, he talked—as if to himself—in half chanting tones:
"Men in my country do not—this thing; but I do it. Of a certainty Nels has accomplished that I could not, though I would. This night two cheetahs remain not—the gods witness—to destroy little tender children of men. And when the so-insignificant cuts of Nels shall be presently wrapped with the covering of mine own honour, I shall be exalted not less! The gods witness. Then we return swiftly into a safe place."
This was no ordinary exultation. Skag's ears were wide open; and he heard grief—and hate.
"How did you know where I was?" he asked quietly.
"I heard the first cheetah's death cry; and I knew he was not far from you, Sahib."
"I thought he was pretty far, one little while."
Skag had spoken, thinking of Nels. Bhanah searched his face while the look of a frightened child grew in his own. Again he stooped quickly and touched the man's feet. He had done it once before—to Skag's acute discomfort.
"What's the meaning of that?"
"That a man's life is in thy breath, my Master."