"The footwear is of little value, but we will take the brass cooking
pots of the merchant," Sookdee said, eyeing this performance; there was
suspicion in his eyes lighted from the flare of their camp fires.

"Sookdee," Hunsa said, "you have the Englay leather packet, but they do
not send _sowars_ through the land of the Mahratta with the real
message written on the back of the messenger. In quiet I will rip
apart the soles of this footwear. Do you that with the saddles;
therein is often hidden the true writing. In the slaying of these two
we have acquired a powerful enemy, the English, and the message, if
there be one, might be traded for our lives. Here are the keys to the
box, for it is heavy."

Into Hunsa's mind had flashed the thought that the gods had opened the
way, for he had plotted to do this thing--the destruction of Ajeet.

"Have all the bodies thrown into the pit, Sookdee," he advised; "make
perfect the covering of the fire and ash, and while you prepare for
flight I will go and bring Bootea's cart to carry Ajeet."

Then Hunsa was swallowed up in the gloom of the night, melting like a
shadow into the white haze of the road as he raced like a grey wolf
toward the Gulab, who now had certainly been delivered into his hands.

Soon his heart pumped and the choke of exertion slowed him to a fast
walk. The sandals, bulky with their turned-up toes, worried him. He
drew a knife from his sash and slit the tops off, muttering: "If it is
here, the message of value, it will be between the two skins of the
soles."