The men pick up the dooli and swing out of sight between the scrub clumps.

The lama raises a hand toward the rampart of the Himalayas.  ’Not with you, O blessed among all hills, fell the Arrow of Our Lord!  And never shall I breathe your airs again!’

‘But thou art ten times the stronger man in this good air,’ says Kim, for to his wearied soul appeal the well-cropped, kindly Plains.  ’Here, or hereabouts, fell the Arrow, yes.  We will go very softly, perhaps, a koss a day, for the Search is sure.  But the bag weighs heavy.’

‘Ay, our Search is sure.  I have come out of great temptation.’

It was never more than a couple of miles a day now, and Kim’s shoulders bore all the weight of it — the burden of an old man, the burden of the heavy food-bag with the locked books, the load of the writings on his heart, and the details of the daily routine.  He begged in the dawn, set blankets for the lama’s meditation, held the weary head on his lap through the noonday heats, fanning away the flies till his wrists ached, begged again in the evenings, and rubbed the lama’s feet, who rewarded him with promise of Freedom — today, tomorrow, or, at furthest, the next day.

’Never was such a chela.  I doubt at times whether Ananda more faithfully nursed Our Lord.  And thou art a Sahib?  When I was a man — a long time ago — I forgot that.  Now I look upon thee often, and every time I remember that thou art a Sahib.  It is strange.’

’Thou hast said there is neither black nor white.  Why plague me with this talk, Holy One?  Let me rub the other foot.  It vexes me.  I am not a Sahib.  I am thy chela, and my head is heavy on my shoulders.’

’Patience a little!  We reach Freedom together.  Then thou and I, upon the far bank of the River, will look back upon our lives as in the Hills we saw our days’ marches laid out behind us.  Perhaps I was once a Sahib.’

“Was never a Sahib like thee, I swear it.’

’I am certain the Keeper of the Images in the Wonder House was in past life a very wise Abbot.  But even his spectacles do not make my eyes see.  There fall shadows when I would look steadily.  No matter — we know the tricks of the poor stupid carcass — shadow changing to another shadow.  I am bound by the illusion of Time and Space.  How far came we today in the flesh?’

‘Perhaps half a koss.’ (Three quarters of a mile, and it was a weary march.)

’Half a koss.  Ha!  I went ten thousand thousand in the spirit.  How, we are all lapped and swathed and swaddled in these senseless things.’  He looked at his thin blue-veined hand that found the beads so heavy.  ‘Chela, hast thou never a wish to leave me?’

Kim thought of the oilskin packet and the books in the food-bag.  If someone duly authorized would only take delivery of them the Great Game might play itself for aught he then cared.  He was tired and hot in his head, and a cough that came from the stomach worried him.