King tapped the flask in his pocket.

"Nay! My throat is dry, but it shalt parch! I know not! As to
where she is, I know not!"

"Remember, and I will give you the whole of it!"

He drew the flask out of his pocket and rode a little way toward
the man.

"None can overhear. Tell me now."

"Nay, sahib! I am silent!"

"Have you passed her on your way?"

The man shook his head--shook it until the whites of his eyes were
a streak in the middle of his dark face; and when a Hillman is
as vehement as that he is surely lying.

King set the flask to his own lips and drank a few
drops.

"Salaam, sahib!" said the jezaitchi, wheeling his horse to ride away.

King let him ride twenty paces before calling to him to halt.

"Come back!" he ordered, and rode part of the way to meet him.