'Yes—in Peshawur,' the second voice sneered. 'Peshawur, full of his blood-kin—full of bolt-holes and women behind whose clothes he will hide. Yes, Peshawur or Jehannum would suit us equally well.'
'Then what is the plan?'
'O fool, have I not told it a hundred times? Wait till he comes to lie down, and then one sure shot. The trucks are between us and pursuit. We have but to run back over the lines and go our way. They will not see whence the shot came. Wait here at least till the dawn. What manner of faquir art thou to shiver at a little watching?'
'Oho!' thought Kim, behind close-shut eyes. 'Once again it is Mahbub. Indeed a white stallion's pedigree is not a good thing to peddle to Sahibs! Or may be Mahbub has been selling other news. Now what is to do, Kim? I know not where Mahbub houses, and if he comes here before the dawn they will shoot him. That would be no profit for thee, Kim. And this is not a matter for the police. That would be no profit for Mahbub. They should have given the matter over to a woman for a few rupees. But they have not, and here is Kim and yonder are they. First, then, Kim must wake and go away, so that they shall not suspect. A bad dream wakes a man—thus'
He threw the blanket off his face, and raised himself suddenly with the terrible, bubbling, meaningless yell of an Asiatic roused by nightmare.
'Urr-urr-urr-urr! Ya-la-la-la-la ! Narain! The churel! The churel!'
A churel is the peculiarily malignant ghost of a woman who has died in child-bed and haunts lonely roads. Her feet are turned backward on the ankles, and she leads men to torment.
