“Allah has given thee to us, my son,” he said sweetly.  “It is vain to fight against God.  I have heard of thee as the Englishman who would know more than is good for man to know.  You were at Forza to-day.”

Lewis’s temper was at its worst.  “I was at Forza to-day, and I watched your people running.  Had they waited a little longer we should have slain them all, and then have come for you.”

The chief smiled unpleasantly.  “My people did not fight at Forza to-day.  That was but the sport to draw on fools.  Soon we shall fight in earnest, but in a different place, and thou shalt not see.”

“I am your prisoner,” said Lewis grimly, “and it is in your power to do with me as you please.  But remember that for every hair of my head my people will take the lives of four of your cattle-lifters.”

“That is an old story,” said Fazir Khan wearily, “and I have heard it many times before.  You speak boldly like a man, and because you are not afraid I will tell you the truth.  In a very little there will be not one of your people in the land, only the Bada-Mawidi, and others whom I do not name.”

“That is a still older story.  I have heard it since I was in my mother’s arms.  Do you think to frighten me by such a tale?”

“Let us not talk of fear,” said the chief with some politeness.  “There are two races in your people, one which talks and allies itself with Bengalis and swine, and one which lives in hard places and follows war.  The second I love, and had it been possible, I would have allied myself with it and driven the others into the sea.”  This petty chieftain spoke with the pride of one who ruled the destinies of the earth.

Lewis was unimpressed.  “I am tired of your riddles,” he said.  “If you would kill me have done with it.  If you would keep me prisoner, give me food and a place to sleep.  But if you would be merciful, let me go and show me the way to Bardur.  Life is too short for waiting.”

Fazir Khan laughed loudly, and spoke something to his people.

“You shall join in our company for the night,” he said.  “I have eaten of the salt of your people and I do not murder without cause.  Also I love a bold man.”

Lewis was led into the largest of the huts and given food and warm Hunza wine.  The place was hot to suffocation; large beads of moisture stood on the mud walls, and the smell of uncleanly clothing and sweating limbs was difficult to stand.  But the man’s complexion was hard, and he made an excellent supper.  Thereafter he became utterly drowsy.  He had it in his mind to question this Fazir Khan about his dark sayings, but his eyes closed as if drawn by a magnet and his head nodded.  It may have been something in the wine; it may have been merely the vigil of the last night, and the toil of the past hours.  At any rate his mind was soon a blank, and when a servant pointed out a heap of skins in a corner, he flung himself on them and was at once asleep.  He was utterly at their mercy, but his course, had he known it, was the wisest.  Even a Bada’s treachery has its limits, and he will not knife a confident guest.  The men talked and wrangled, ate and drank, and finally snored around him, but he slept through it all like a sleeper of Ephesus.