three regiments of infantry, two guns, and some cavalry would form the escort; but that its largeness was a compliment to their bravery, and would save their honour. They did not appreciate this reasoning, but assorted that the tribe believed the intention was to establish a cantonment upon their holy mountain.
"Moolah Sahib," I said, "we only want to draw some lines on a piece of paper, and the largeness of the guard means more rupees for your tribe. We shall pay for every blade of grass we take and every stick we burn."
At this they smiled and looked incredulously at each other. Then one of them asked, "How are you to get up there" (pointing to the mountain above us)?" There are no roads, and you can't walk."
"Oh," interposed one of my native assistants, "the Sahibs walk very well. They are great shikaris (hunters)."
"Pooh!" explained the oldest moolah to his companions, "I am a Hâji (Mecca pilgrim). I know the tribe of the Sahib logue. I have seen them in Bombay. They drive or ride always."
"Well, Moolah Sahib," I replied, rather testily, "give me some hostages. I'll feed and pay them well, and you will see whether we can walk up a hillside or not. I don't want the General Sahib to have to kill any of you, if I can help it."
They looked rather dismayed at this, and began to talk eagerly together. "Well, well," said I, "consult together outside. My men will persuade you that the Sarkar only wants your good."
They then rose to go. Observing that one of them was a cripple, his right foot having been cleanly cut off above the ankle, I inquired, in a commiserating tone, how he
had lost it. The man actually blushed, and stammered out, "It was – burnt;" and then hastily withdrew. The others followed. One, however, lingered behind, and whispered something to my head native assistant, who nodded comprehendingly, and between laughing and pushing got him out of the tent.
When they were all gone, the assistant explained that my question had been an unfortunate one, as the moolah had been in youth something of a Don Juan, and had been deprived of his foot by an enraged husband, who had at the same time cut off his wife's nose and slit her lips.
After it was dark, one of the moolahs sent word that he wanted to see me privately. He came in and told me mysteriously that he knew the ways of the Sahib logue: they might not establish a cantonment just then on the Takht, but would soon; and that, as he lived near it, he wanted me to give him a certificate, that if his relations did not fight against us, his family and possessions would be respected. To humour him I did so. This pleased him so much that he became talkative and confidential.
"What will it cost the Sarkar to get up there?" he asked, reflectively.
"Oh, not much – a quarter or half a lakh."
"What, Sahib! all that just to draw some lines on a bit of paper?"
"Yes, a Sahib never tells lies."
"And the cantonments," said he; "they won't be on the top, because there is no water there."
"Go, I tell you; the Sarkar wants to draw lines on paper, that is all."
"What, Sahib! half a lakh for that? However, salám, Sahib – I have got your certificate. I am safe!"
