one rope which was the master rope. He could see that rope. If
he could pull it once, it was absolutely and mathematically
certain that the disordered fleet would reassemble itself in the
backwater behind the guard-tower. But why, he wondered, was Peroo
clinging so desperately to his waist as he hastened down the bank?
It was necessary to put the Lascar aside, gently and slowly, because
it was necessary to save the boats, and, further, to demonstrate
the extreme ease of the problem that looked so difficult. And then
- but it was of no conceivable importance - a wirerope raced
through his hand, burning it, the high bank disappeared, and with
it all the slowly dispersing factors of the problem. He was sitting
in the rainy darkness - sitting in a boat that spun like a top,
and Peroo was standing over him.

"I had forgotten," said the Lascar, slowly, "that to those fasting
and unused, the opium is worse than any wine. Those who die in
Gunga go to the Gods. Still, I have no desire to present myself
before such great ones. Can the Sahib swim?"

"What need? He can fly - fly as swiftly as the wind," was the thick
answer.

"He is mad!" muttered Peroo, under his breath. "And he threw me
aside like a bundle of dung-cakes. Well, he will not know his death.
The boat cannot live an hour here even if she strike nothing. It
is not good to look at death with a clear eye."

He refreshed himself again from the tin box, squatted down in the
bows of the reeling, pegged, and stitched craft, staring through
the mist at the nothing that was there. A warm drowsiness crept