It was not for nothing
that Fazir Khan had harried the Border and sojourned incognito in every
town in North India.
"Allah has given thee to us, my son," he said sweetly. "It is vain to
fight against God. I have heard of thee as the Englishman who would
know more than is good for man to know. You were at Forza to-day."
Lewis's temper was at its worst. "I was at Forza to-day, and I watched
your people running. Had they waited a little longer we should have
slain them all, and then have come for you."
The chief smiled unpleasantly. "My people did not fight at Forza
to-day. That was but the sport to draw on fools. Soon we shall fight
in earnest, but in a different place, and thou shalt not see."
"I am your prisoner," said Lewis grimly, "and it is in your power to do
with me as you please. But remember that for every hair of my head my
people will take the lives of four of your cattle-lifters."
"That is an old story," said Fazir Khan wearily, "and I have heard it
many times before. You speak boldly like a man, and because you are not
afraid I will tell you the truth. In a very little there will be not
one of your people in the land, only the Bada-Mawidi, and others whom I
do not name."
"That is a still older story. I have heard it since I was in my
mother's arms. Do you think to frighten me by such a tale?"
"Let us not talk of fear," said the chief with some politeness.
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