westward, leaving the bed of a ravine and ascending to join the
highway built by British engineers. Below, to left and right,
was pit-mouth gloom, shadows amid shadows, full of eerie whisperings,
and King felt the short hair on his neck begin to rise.

So he urged his horse forward, because what Rewa Gunga said is true.
There is only one surer key to trouble in the Khyber than to seem
afraid--and that is to be afraid. And to have sat his horse there
listening to the Rangar's whisperings and trying to see through
shadows would have been to invite fear, of the sort that grows
into panic.

The Rangar followed him, close up, and both horse and mare sensed
excitement. The mare's steel shoes sent up a shower of sparks,
and King turned to rebuke the Rangar. Yet he did not speak. Never,
in all the years he had known India and the borderland beyond, had
he seen eyes so suggestive of a tiger's in the dark! Yet they were
not the same color as a tiger's, nor the same size, nor the same shape!

"Look, sahib!"

"Look at what?"

"Look!"

After a second or two he caught a glimpse of bluish flame that
flashed suddenly and died again, somewhere below to the right.
Then all at once the flame burned brighter and steadier and began
to move and to grow.