King nodded. "Die with you, eh?"

"To the last man," said Courtenay quietly with that conviction that
can only be arrived at in one way, and that not the easiest.

"I'd die alone," said King. "It'll be lonely in the 'Hills.' Got
any more quail?"

And that was all he ever did say on that subject, then or at any
other time.

"Here's to her!" laughed Courtenay at last, rising and holding up
his glass. "We can't explain her, so let's drink to her! No
heel-taps! Here's to Rewa Gunga's mistress, Yasmini!"

"May she show good hunting!" answered King, draining his glass;
and it was his first that day. "If it weren't for that note of
hers that came down the Pass, and for one or two other things, I'd
almost believe her a myth--one of those supposititious people who
are supposed to express some ideal or other. Not an hallucination,
you understand--nor exactly an embodied spirit, either. Perhaps
the spirit of a problem. Let y be the Khyber district, z the tribes,
and x the spirit of the rumpus. Find x. Get me?"

"Not exactly. Got quinine in your kit, by the way?"

"Plenty, thanks."

"What shall you do first after you get up the Pass? Call on your