from the Guides, taking their
lives in their hands and barely escaping, was one Abdul Mujid. This fine
specimen of the trained adventurer was working through a hitherto
unmapped and little known country, when one evening he came to a small
village, and made his way as usual to the travellers' serai. There
also, as is not unusual, he found assembled, besides wayfarers like
himself, the headman of the village and two or three other residents,
smoking and chatting. They made room for Abdul Mujid, and with the
outwardly polite insistence of the Oriental asked his business, whence
he came, and whither he was going.

While our good friend the Guide was spinning such romances as seemed
good unto him, to account for his presence in this secluded valley, a
small boy came and squatted down at his feet, to lose not a word of the
story. And sitting there, like a boy, or a magpie, he picked up one of
the shoes which Abdul Mujid had slipped off as he took his seat and
began to examine it curiously. This perfectly childish act by chance
caught the wandering glance of the headman, and as he looked at the
shoes, and then up at the fine strapping fellow who owned them, a sudden
thought occurred to him. "Those are very like soldiers' shoes," he said
in a hard, suspicious voice; "I have seen them wearing the like in
Peshawur."

Abdul Mujid was considerably taken aback, for it had never occurred to
him that in these wild parts he might chance across anyone who had
travelled far enough to know the difference between a soldier's and any
other shoe. However, his ready wit came to his service, and with scarce
a pause he replied quietly: "Yes, I bought them in one of the border
villages from a sepoy on leave," and then turned the conversation on to
less dangerous ground. But he saw he was suspected, and any moment
might find him seized and searched. It was too late to move on to
another village; indeed to attempt to do so would only serve to confirm
suspicion, and the moment he had passed the sacred portals of
hospitality he would have been instantly followed and cut down.

Shoes in themselves are not enough to hang a man, but a prismatic
compass assuredly is. In a Pathan country murder, rapine, and
cattle-lifting are comparatively venial offences, little more indeed
than instances of lightheartedness; but to draw a map of the country is
worse than the seven deadly sins rolled into one, and short will be the
shrift of him who is caught in th