ther Hilas or Bunar has written. They guard it most carefully. They
have sent nothing back from Hilas or Leh. That is sure.'

'Who is with them?'

'Only the beegar-coolies. They have no servants. They are so close
they cook their own food.'

'But what am I to do?'

'Wait and see. Only if any chance comes to me thou wilt know where to
seek for the papers.'

'This were better in Mahbub Ali's hands than a Bengali's,' said Kim
scornfully.

'There are more ways of getting to a sweetheart than butting down a
wall.'

'See here the Hell appointed for avarice and greed. Flanked upon the
one side by Desire and on the other by Weariness.' The lama warmed to
his work, and one of the strangers sketched him in the quick-fading
light.

'That is enough,' the man said at last brusquely. 'I cannot understand
him, but I want that picture. He is a better artist than I. Ask him if
he will sell it.'

'He says "No, sar,"' the Babu replied. The lama, of course, would no
more have parted with his chart to a casual wayfarer than an archbishop
would pawn the holy vessels of his cathedral. All Tibet is full of
cheap reproductions of the Wheel; but the lama was an artist, as well
as a wealthy Abbot in his own place.

'Perhaps in three days, or four, or ten, if I perceive that the Sahib
is a Seeker and of good understanding, I may myself draw him another.
But this was used for the initiation of a novice. Tell him so, hakim.'

'He wishes it now--for money.'

The lama shook his head slowly and began to fold up the Wheel. The
Russian, on his side, saw no more than an unclean old man haggling over
a dirty piece of paper. He drew out a handful of rupees, and snatched
half-jestingly at the chart, which tore in the lama's grip. A low
murmur of horror went up from the coolies--some of whom were Spiti men
and, by their lights, good Buddhists. The lama rose at the insult; his
hand went to the heavy iron pencase that is the priest's weapon, and
the Babu danced in agony.

'Now you see--you see why I wanted witnesses. They are highly
unscrupulous people. Oh, sar! sar! You must not hit holyman!'

'Chela! He has defiled the Written Word!'

It was too late. Before Kim could ward him off, the Russian struck the
old man full on the face. Next instant he was rolling over and over
downhill with Kim at his throat. The blow had waked every unknown
Irish devil in the boy's blood, and the sudden fall of his enemy did
the rest.