each of his ears, held
a council of war. Ajeet was opposed to the killing of Ragganath and
his men, but Hunsa pointed out that it was the only way: they were
either decoits or they were men of toil, men of peace. Dead men were
not given to carrying tales, and if no stir were made about the decoity
until they were safely back in Karowlee they could enjoy the fruits Of
their spoils, which would be, undoubtedly, great. By the use of the
strangling cloth there would be no outcry, no din of battle; they of
the village would think that the camp was one of sleep. Then when the
bodies had been buried in a pit, the earth tramped down flat and solid,
and cooking fires built over it to obliterate all traces of a grave,
they would strike camp and go back the way they had come.

Ajeet was forced to admit that it was the one thorough way, but he
persisted that they were decoits and not thugs.

At this Sookdee laughed: "Jamadar," he said, "what matters to a dead
man the manner of his killing? Indeed it is a merciful way. Such as
Bhowanee herself decreed--in a second it is over. But with the spear,
or the sword--ah! I have seen men writhe in agony and die ten times
before it was an end."

"But a caste is a caste," Ajeet objected, "and the manner of the caste.
We are decoits, and we only slay when there is no other way."

Hunsa tipped his gorilla body forward from where it rested on his heels
as he sat, and his lowering eyes were sullen with impatience:

"Chief Ajeet," he snarled, "think you that we can rob the _seth_ of his
treasure without an outcry--and if there is an outcry, that he will not
go back to those of his caste in Poona, and when trouble is made, think
you that the Dewan will thank us for the bungling of this? And as to
the matter of a thug or a decoit, half our men have been taught the art
of the strangler. With these,"--and extending his massive arms he
closed his coarse hands in a gnarled grip,--"with these I would, with
one sharp in-turn on the _roomal_, crack the neck of the merchant and
he would be dead in the taking of a breath. And, Ajeet, if this that
is the manner of men causes you fear--"

"Hunsa," and Ajeet's voice was constrained in its deadliness, "that
ass's voice of yours will yet bring you to grief."

But Sookdee interposed:

"Let us not quarrel," he said. "Ajeet no doubt has in his mind Bootea
as I have Meena. And it would be well if the two were sent on the road
in the cart, and when