The words that he said, the short vernacular words that have a way of
coming straight to the point, established Little Shikara as a legend
through all that corner of British India. It was Little Shikara who
had come alone through the jungle, said he; it was Little Shikara's
shining eyes that had gazed along the barrel, and it was his own brown
finger that had pulled the trigger. Thus, said Warwick, he would get
the bounty that the British Government offered--British rupees that to
a child's eyes would be past counting. Thus in time, with Warwick's
influence, his would be a great voice through all of India. For small
as he was, and not yet grown, he was of the true breed.

After the shouting was done, Warwick turned to Little Shikara to see
how he thought upon all these things. "Thou shalt have training for
the army, little one, where thy good nerve will be of use, and thou
shalt be a native officer, along with the sons of princes. I, myself,
will see to it, for I do not hold my life so cheap that I will forget
the thing that thou hast done to-night."

And he meant what he said. The villagers stood still when they saw his
earnest face. "And what, little hawk, wilt thou have more?" he asked.

Little Shikara trembled and raised his eyes. "Only sometimes to ride
with thee, in thy _howdah_, as thy servant, when thou again seekest
the tiger."

The whole circle laughed at this. They were just human, after all.
Their firebrands were held high, and gleamed on Little Shikara's dusky
face, and made a lustre in his dark eyes. The circle, roaring with
laughter, did not hear the sahib's reply, but they did see him nod his
head.