"Let him be, Salaman," I said quietly. "I'm not afraid of the old fellow. He will not hurt me."

"I do not think his curses will hurt, my lord," he replied, "but he might strike."

"He had better not," I said sharply, in Hindustani, as if for the fakir to hear. "If he does, holy man or no, I'll knock him over. I'm growing stronger now."

Salaman came close behind me, and whispered, "No, no, my lord, don't strike him; push him away, he is very old and mad; but he must not be hurt."

At that moment Dost began in a very low voice and went on, with his declamation growing louder, till it was a roar, when he suddenly ceased, and dropped down on the ground with his legs under him in the position of an Indian idol, and, with his chin upon his breast, sat there perfectly silent, and as if in rapt contemplation.

Salaman seemed puzzled, and Dost looked like a statue that had been very much knocked about.

"What shall I do, my lord?" he whispered. "I do not like to touch him; he would begin to curse again."

"Then pray don't touch him," I said testily. "He will go to sleep now; he is tired."

"It is not sleep," whispered Salaman. "He goes into a state that may last for hours or days. Will my lord come to his tent?"

"No," I said emphatically; "if I move, perhaps it will set him off again. Let him stay and curse the rajah when he comes."

"I pray he may not," said Salaman hurriedly; "his highness is soon angry. But, no: he would not curse him."

"Never mind," I said; "get me a melon. I am thirsty."

Salaman glanced at the motionless figure with its head bent down, and then hurried away to obey my command.

Dost did not stir, but sat there staring hard at the ground, and I saw his ears twitch. Then, in a quick whisper, he said--

"I could not come near your tent. Watched, sahib. Was obliged to do this. Turn your head away, and do not look at me, but hiss, hiss, like a snake, when you see him coming."

"Yes," I said, as I threw myself sidewise on the pillows. "Tell me what you propose doing."

"Going away to-day to find the captain, and tell him all. He may come to your help at once. If he does not, it is because the country is full of enemies."

"Can't you take me with you, Dost?"

"No, sahib, you are growing stronger, but you could not sit a horse for long enough yet, and you have not strength enough to fight and defend us both. I am not a fighting man."

Hiss!

Salaman was on his way back with a silver dish, on which lay a melon and knife, while one of the bearers carried a plate and sugar.

The former glanced at Dost, as he paused, and then placed the melon before me.

"It is beautifully ripe, my lord," he said, "and will quench your thirst."

I laughed.

"It is good to see my lord smile," said Salaman, "he is better, and it makes my heart glad."

"I was laughing," I said, "because the old fakir must be thirstier than I. All those hot words must have burned his throat."

Salaman smiled, but became solemn again directly.

"Truly his words were hot, my lord," he said.

"Then cut him a big piece of the melon, and give him, before I touch it, and he thinks it is defiled."

Salaman looked pleased, and obeyed my words, placing the melon in Dost's lap; but the latter did not move or unclose his eyes, but sat there perfectly motionless, with the piece of the fruit in his lap, while I partook of mine, which was delicious in the extreme, and I enjoyed it as I saw how completely the people about me were deceived.

Salaman and the bearer stood humbly close at hand till I had finished, and then took plate and tray with the remains of the melon.

"Will my lord return to the tent?" asked Salaman.

"Oh, I don't know," I said indifferently.

"But my lord might be sleeping when the holy man comes back to himself.

You see, he is not there now. It is only his body."

"How these old impostors of fakirs do deceive the people," I thought, as I glanced at Dost; then aloud--

"Well, suppose I were sleeping?"

"The holy man might harm my lord."

"Not he," I said, in a voice full of contempt. "Words do no harm whatsoever."

Salaman bowed and went his way, and I took up a palm-leaf fan, and began to use it, not as a wafter of cool wind, but as a screen to hide my face when I spoke to Dost, and from behind which I could keep an eye on the tents, and see when any one was coming.

As soon as I gave him a signal, Dost began again, but without stirring a muscle; in fact, so rigid did he look that it would have puzzled any one to make out whence the low m.u.f.fled voice came with such a peculiar whispered hiss, caused by its pa.s.sing through the thick beard which m.u.f.fled his lips.

"You understand, sahib," he said. "I shall be gone before morning, and if you do not hear anything, be not afraid, for if I get safely to the captain sahib, he will be making plans to come and save you as soon as he can."

"Tell me one thing," I said quickly. "What about Major Lacey?"

"Ah! at Rajgunge, sahib. I do not know. I was not able to go there again, but he will be well. Those with whom he was placed would not let him come to harm."

"And Sergeant Craig?"

"His wounds were healing fast, sahib. But now listen. When I come back to you to get you away to your friends, who will be waiting close by, I shall let you know I am there by making a hiss like a snake--so--in a quick way, twice."

He gave the imitation, but so softly that it could not have been heard.

"Now," he said, "go, and take no more notice of me. If the servants suspect anything, my work must be begun all over again, and it is hard to deceive them."

"But have you nothing more to say?"

"Nothing, sahib; there is no time, and this is not the place. Be patient, and grow strong. The captain sahib will save you, and all will be well. Go."