"And I in thine?" King asked, but neither man answered him.

They sat in silence for five minutes. Then suddenly the two Hillmen
shuddered, although King did not bat an eyelid. Din burst into being.
A volley ripped out of the night and thundered down the Pass.

"How-utt! Hukkums dar?" came the insolent challenge half a minute
after it--the proof positive that Ali Masjid's guards neither slept
nor were afraid.

A weird wail answered the challenge, and there began a tossing to
and fro of words, that was prelude to a shouted invitation:

"Ud-vance-frrrennen-orsss-werrul!"

English can be as weirdly distorted as wire, or any other supple
medium, and native levies advance distortion to the point of art;
but the language sounds no less good in the chilly gloom of a
Khyber night.

Followed another wait, this time of half an hour. Then a man's
footsteps--a booted, leather-heeled man, striding carelessly. Not
far behind him was the softer noise of sandals. The man began to
whistle Annie Laurie.

"Charles? That you?" called King.

"That you, old man?"