"I but tried thee, friend!" he said, holding out the flask.

"Allah then preserve me from a second test!"

The jezailchi seized the flask, clapped it to his lips and drained
it to the last drop while King sat still in the moonlight and smiled
at him.

"God grant the giver peace!" he prayed, handing the flask back.
The kindly East possesses no word for "Thank you." Then he wheeled
the horse in a sudden eddy, as polo ponies turn on the Indian plains,
and rode away down the wind as if the Pass were full of devils in
pursuit of him.

King watched him out of sight and then listened until the hoof-beats
died away and the Pass grew still again.

"The jezailchis'll stand!" he said, lighting a new cheroot. "Good
men and good luck to 'em!"

Then he rode back to his own men.

"Where starts the trail to Khinjan?" be asked; not that he had
forgotten it, but to learn who knew.

"This side of Ali Masjid!" they answered all together.

"Two miles this side. More than a mile from here," said Ismail.
"What next? Shall we camp here? Here is fuel and a little water.
Give the word--"