bu led the way down the slopes--walking ahead of the coolies in
pride; walking behind the foreigners in humility. His thoughts were
many and various. The least of them would have interested his
companions beyond words. But he was an agreeable guide, ever keen to
point out the beauties of his royal master's domain. He peopled the
hills with anything thev had a mind to slay--thar, ibex, or markhor,
and bear by Elisha's allowance. He discoursed of botany and ethnology
with unimpeachable inaccuracy, and his store of local legends--he had
been a trusted agent of the State for fifteen years, remember--was
inexhaustible.

'Decidedly this fellow is an original,' said the taller of the two
foreigners. 'He is like the nightmare of a Viennese courier.'

'He represents in little India in transition--the monstrous hybridism
of East and West,' the Russian replied. 'It is we who can deal with
Orientals.'

'He has lost his own country and has not acquired any other. But he
has a most complete hatred of his conquerors. Listen. He confided to
me last night,' said the other.

Under the striped umbrella Hurree Babu was straining ear and brain to
follow the quick-poured French, and keeping both eyes on a kilta full
of maps and documents--an extra-large one with a double red oil-skin
cover. He did not wish to steal anything. He only desired to know
what to steal, and, incidentally, how to get away when he had stolen
it. He thanked all the Gods of Hindustan, and Herbert Spencer, that
there remained some valuables to steal.

On the second day the road rose steeply to a grass spur above the
forest; and it was here, about sunset, that they came across an aged
lama--but they called him a bonze--sitting cross-legged above a
mysterious chart held down by stones, which he was explaining to a
young man, evidently a neophyte, of singular, though unwashen, beauty.
The striped umbrella had been sighted half a march away, and Kim had
suggested a halt till it came up to them.

'Ha!' said Hurree Babu, resourceful as Puss-in-Boots. 'That is
eminent local holy man. Probably subject of my royal master.'

'What is he doing? It is very curious.'

'He is expounding holy picture--all hand-worked.'

The two men stood bareheaded in the wash of the afternoon sunlight low
across the gold-coloured grass. The sullen coolies, glad of the check,
halted and slid down their loads.

'Look!' said the Frenchman. 'It is like a picture for the bi