It was here that Futteh Ali Shah once more pressingly invited Ralston to try the paces of his stallion.  But Ralston again refused.

“I will with pleasure later on,” he said.  “But a little exercise will be good for both of us; and they continued to walk along the road.  The heat was overpowering; Futteh Ali Shah was soft from too much good living; his thin patent-leather shoes began to draw his feet and gall his heels; his frock coat was tight; the perspiration poured down his face.  Ralston was hot, too.  But he strode on with apparent unconcern, and talked with the utmost friendliness on the municipal affairs of Peshawur.”

“It is very hot,” said Futteh Ali Shah, “and I am afraid for your Excellency’s health.  For myself, of course, I am not troubled, but so much walking will be dangerous to you”; and he halted and looked longingly back to his horse.

“Thank you,” said Ralston.  “But my horse is fresh, and I should not be able to talk to you so well.  I do not feel that I am in danger.”

Futteh Ali Shah mopped his face and walked on.  His feet blistered; he began to limp, and he had nothing but a riding-switch in his hand.  Now across the plain he saw in the distance the round fort of Jamrud, and he suddenly halted: 

“I must sit down,” he said.  “I cannot help it, your Excellency, I must stop and sit down.”

Ralston turned to him with a look of cold surprise.

“Before me, Futteh Ali Shah?  You will sit down in my presence before I sit down?  I think you will not.”

Futteh Ali Shah gazed up the road and down the road, and saw no help anywhere.  Only this devilish Chief Commissioner stood threateningly before him.  With a gesture of despair he wiped his face and walked on.  For a mile more he limped on by Ralston’s side, the while Ralston discoursed upon the great question of Agricultural Banks.  Then he stopped again and blurted out: 

“I will give you no more trouble.  If your Excellency will let me go, never again will I give you trouble.  I swear it.”

Ralston smiled.  He had had enough of the walk himself.

“And Rahat Mian?” he asked.

There was a momentary struggle in the zemindar’s mind.  But his fatigue and exhaustion were too heavy upon him.

“He, too, shall go his own way.  Neither I nor mine shall molest him.”

Ralston turned at once and mounted his horse.  With a sigh of relief Futteh Ali Shah followed his example.

“Shall we ride back together?” said Ralston, pleasantly.  And as on the way out he had made no mention of any trouble between the landowner and himself, so he did not refer to it by a single word on his way back.

But close to the city their ways parted and Futteh Ali Shah, as he took his leave, said hesitatingly,

“If this story goes abroad, your Excellency—­this story of how we walked together towards Jamrud—­there will be much laughter and ridicule.”