ave a
red-spotted cow. She may be sister to thy Bull for aught I know--'

'Or I care,' said Kim. 'My Stars do not concern themselves with thy
cattle.'

'Nay, but she is very sick,' a woman struck in. 'My man is a buffalo,
or he would have chosen his words better. Tell me if she recover?'

Had Kim been at all an ordinary boy, he would have carried on the play;
but one does not know Lahore city, and least of all the fakirs by the
Taksali Gate, for thirteen years without also knowing human nature.

The priest looked at him sideways, something bitterly--a dry and
blighting smile.

'Is there no priest, then, in the village? I thought I had seen a
great one even now,' cried Kim.

'Ay--but--' the woman began.

'But thou and thy husband hoped to get the cow cured for a handful of
thanks.' The shot told: they were notoriously the closest-fisted
couple in the village. 'It is not well to cheat the temples. Give a
young calf to thine own priest, and, unless thy Gods are angry past
recall, she will give milk within a month.'

'A master-beggar art thou,' purred the priest approvingly. 'Not the
cunning of forty years could have done better. Surely thou hast made
the old man rich?'

'A little flour, a little butter and a mouthful of cardamoms,' Kim
retorted, flushed with the praise, but still cautious--'Does one grow
rich on that? And, as thou canst see, he is mad. But it serves me
while I learn the road at least.'

He knew what the fakirs of the Taksali Gate were like when they talked
among themselves, and copied the very inflection of their lewd
disciples.

'Is his Search, then, truth or a cloak to other ends? It may be
treasure.'

'He is mad--many times mad. There is nothing else.'

Here the old soldier bobbled up and asked if Kim would accept his
hospitality for the night. The priest recommended him to do so, but
insisted that the honour of entertaining the lama belonged to the
temple--at which the lama smiled guilelessly. Kim glanced from one
face to the other, and drew his own conclusions.

'Where is the money?' he whispered, beckoning the old man off into the
darkness.

'In my bosom. Where else?'

'Give it me. Quietly and swiftly give it me.'

'But why? Here is no ticket to buy.'

'Am I thy chela, or am I not? Do I not safeguard thy old feet about
the ways? Give me the money and at dawn I will return it.' He slipped
his hand above the lama's girdle and brought away the purse.

'