"
Fazir Khan nodded carelessly. "He is a disturber of peace, and to one
who cannot fight a hand matters little. But, by Allah, ye northerners
shoot quick."
The stranger relinquished the cherry-wood pipe and filled a meerschaum
from a pouch which he carried in the pocket of his cloak. He took a
long drink from the loving-cup of mulled wine which was passing round.
"Your mad priest has method in his folly," he said. "It is true that we
are attacking a great people; therefore the more need of wariness for
you and me, Fazir Khan. If we fail there will be the devil to pay for
you. The English will shift their frontier-line beyond the mountains,
and there will be no more lifting of women and driving of cattle for the
Bada-Mawidi. You will all be sent to school, and your guns will be
taken from you."
The chief compressed his attractive features into a savage scowl. "That
may not be in my lifetime," he said. "Besides, are there no mountains
all around? In five hours I shall be in China, and in a little more I
might be beyond the Amu. But why talk of this? The accursed English
shall not escape us, I swear by the hilt of my sword and the hearts of
my fathers."
A subdued murmur of applause ran around the circle.
"You are men after my own heart," said the stranger. "Meanwhile, a word
in your own ear, Fazir Khan. Dare you come to Bardur with me?"
The chief made a gesture of repugnance.
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