home the sharp-edged stirrup. (He was not the new sort of fluent
horse-dealer who wears English boots and spurs.) Kim drew his own
conclusions from that betrayal.

'That was a small matter. It lay on the straight road to Benares. I
and the Sahib have by this time forgotten it. I send so many
letters and messages to men who ask questions about horses, I
cannot well remember one from the other. Was it some matter of a
bay mare that Peters Sahib wished the pedigree of?'

Kim saw the trap at once. If he had said 'bay mare' Mahbub would
have known by his very readiness to fall in with the amendment that
the boy suspected something. Kim replied therefore:

'Bay mare. No. I do not forget my messages thus. It was a white
stallion.'

'Ay, so it was. A white Arab stallion. But thou didst write "bay
mare" to me.'

'Who cares to tell truth to a letter-writer?' Kim answered, feeling
Mahbub's palm on his heart.

'Hi! Mahbub, you old villain, pull up!' cried a voice, and an
Englishman raced alongside on a little polo-pony. 'I've been
chasing you half over the country. That Kabuli of yours can go. For
sale, I suppose?'

'I have some young stuff coming on made by Heaven for the delicate
and difficult polo-game. He has no equal. He - '