I

“But for whom dost thou work? Why come to me?” The voice was harsh with suspicion.

“To whom else should I come? I have no money. It is not good to go about without money. Thou wilt sell many horses to the officers. They are very fine horses, these new ones: I have seen them. Give me a rupee, Mahbub Ali, and when I come to my wealth I will give thee a bond and pay.”

“Um!” said Mahbub Ali, thinking swiftly. “Thou hast never before lied to me. Call that lama⁠—stand back in the dark.”

“Oh, our tales will agree,” said Kim, laughing.

“We go to Benares,” said the lama, as soon as he understood the drift of Mahbub Ali’s questions. “The boy and I, I go to seek for a certain River.”

“Maybe⁠—but the boy?”

“He is my disciple. He was sent, I think, to guide me to that River. Sitting under a gun was I when he came suddenly. Such things have befallen the fortunate to whom guidance was allowed. But I remember now, he said he was of this world⁠—a Hindu.”

“And his name?”

“That I did not ask. Is he not my disciple?”

“His country⁠—his race⁠—his village? Mussalman⁠—Sikh⁠—Hindu⁠—Jain⁠—low caste or high?”

“Why should I ask? There is neither high nor low in the Middle Way. If he is my chela ⁠—does⁠—will⁠—can anyone take him from me? for, look you, without him I shall not find my River.” He wagged his head solemnly.