Kim pointed--he could not speak--to Father Victor's wing, all staring
white near by.

'Perhaps he will make a good soldier,' said Mahbub reflectively.

'He will make a good orderly at least. I sent him to deliver a message
once from Lahore. A message concerning the pedigree of a white
stallion.'

Here was deadly insult on deadlier injury--and the Sahib to whom he had
so craftily given that war-waking letter heard it all. Kim beheld
Mahbub Ali frying in flame for his treachery, but for himself he saw
one long grey vista of barracks, schools, and barracks again. He gazed
imploringly at the clear-cut face in which there was no glimmer of
recognition; but even at this extremity it never occurred to him to
throw himself on the white man's mercy or to denounce the Afghan. And
Mahbub stared deliberately at the Englishman, who stared as
deliberately at Kim, quivering and tongue-tied.

'My horse is well trained,' said the dealer. 'Others would have
kicked, Sahib.'

'Ah,' said the Englishman at last, rubbing his pony's damp withers with
his whip-butt. 'Who makes the boy a soldier?'

'He says the Regiment that found him, and especially the Padre-sahib of
that regiment.

'There is the Padre!' Kim choked as bare-headed Father Victor sailed
down upon them from the veranda.

'Powers O' Darkness below, O'Hara! How many more mixed friends do you
keep in Asia?' he cried, as Kim slid down and stood helplessly before
him.

'Good morning, Padre,' the Englishman said cheerily. 'I know you by
reputation well enough. Meant to have come over and called before
this. I'm Creighton.'

'Of the Ethnological Survey?' said Father Victor. The Englishman
nodded. 'Faith, I'm glad to meet ye then; an' I owe you some thanks
for bringing back the boy.'

'No thanks to me, Padre. Besides, the boy wasn't going away. You
don't know old Mahbub Ali.' The horse-dealer sat impassive in the
sunlight. 'You will when you have been in the station a month. He
sells us all our crocks. That boy is rather a curiosity. Can you tell
me anything about him?'

'Can I tell you?' puffed Father Victor. 'You'll be the one man that
could help me in my quandaries. Tell you! Powers o' Darkness, I'm
bursting to tell someone who knows something o' the native!'

A groom came round the corner. Colonel Creighton raised his voice,
speaking in Urdu. 'Very good, Mahbub Ali, but what is the use of
telling me all those stories about the pony? N